FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


S*ctio*  /  7*5/0 


a«*% 


.Vadhe  appointed  singers  before  ta.e  LQB.D,  that  akoulcLpTaisc 
tlie  BEAUTY  of  B10I.TNE S&.-Ozr<micZes. 


Revised  Edition  .  with  additional   Ballads. 


HARTFORD 
HENRY   S.  PARSONS. 

NEW  YORK 
D.  APPLETON  &C°200  BROADWAY. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Calvin  College 


http://www.archive.org/details/christianballad47coxe 


CHRISTIAN  BALLADS. 


And  he  appointed  singers  before  the  Lord,  that  should  praise  the  Beauty  of 
Holiness.—  Chronicles. 


REVISED  EDITION,  WITH   ADDITIONAL  BALLADS, 


HARTFORD: 
HENRY   S.    PARSONS. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    &    CO.,  200BROADWAY. 

1847. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

A.  CLEVELAND  COXE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


JOHN    HENRY    HOB ART 


My  Dear  Hobart, 

I  dedicate  these  Ballads  to  you,  as  a  duty,  and 
as  a  pleasure  :  as  a  duty,  because,  but  for  you,  they 
would  never  have  been  written,  and  as  a  pleasure,  be- 
cause I  rejoice  to  associate  my  name  with  yours,  in 
any  thing,  however  humble,  which  I  am  permitted  to 
do  for  the  Church  of  God.  I  need  not  add,  that  I 
consider  it  in  happy  harmony  with  their  design,  that 
I  am  privileged  to  inscribe  them  to  the  inheritor  of  a 
name,  whose  praise  is  in  all  the  Churches. 

I  know  that  to  you  at  least  they  will  not  be  unaccept- 
able. The  glistening  dews  of  a  Christian  boyhood 
are  fast  drying  up,  from  both  of  us  ;  but  here  are  some 
results  of  rambling  talks,  and  rural  walks,  and  holiday 
diversions,  which,  for  years  we  have  enjoyed  together, 
and  which,  through  life,  will  be  dear  to  memory,  as 
having  gradually  led  us  to  find  our  best  delight,  and  to 
choose  our  portion,  in  the  amiable  dwellings  of  the 
Lord  of  Hosts. 

Yours,  my  dear  Hobart, 

A.  C.  C. 
Chelsea,  New  York, 

June  28,  1840. 


PREFACE. 


The  Catholic  Religion,  having  the  same  original 
with  Nature,  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  it,  and  shares 
its  poetical  element.  A  truly  Catholic  Church  there- 
fore, will  naturally  exhibit  more  or  less  of  that  element, 
in  its  services  and  rites.  History  shows  indeed  that  it 
may  be  diminished  by  unfavorable  circumstances,  with- 
out impairing  essential  Catholicity  ;  and  on  the  other 
hand  that  it  may  be  developed  beyond  proportion,  to 
morbid  excess,  and  the  injury  of  parts  more  vital.  But 
it  is  the  glory  of  the  Anglican  ritual  to  retain  in  happy 
combination,  as  did  the  whole  Church  in  its  primitive 
age,  the  characteristics  of  reverend  dignity  and  meek 
simplicity.  In  the  language  of  one,  whose  sense  of 
the  Sublime  and  Beautiful  will  hardly  be  questioned,  it 
displays  the  elemental  poetry  of  true  religion — "in 
buildings,  in  music,  in  decoration,  in  speech,  and  in  the 
dignity  of  persons,  with  modest  splendour,  with  un- 
assuming state,  with  mild  majesty  and  sober  pomp." 

In  this  eulogy  of  the  thoughtful  Burke,  a  healthful 
taste  will  value  the  adjectives  as  well  as  the  nouns. 
In  the  Latin  Churches,  it  is  to  be  deplored  that  the 
beauties  of  worship  have  risen  to  a  pomp,  majesty, 
state  and  splendour  which  can  hardly  be  qualified  :  and 
1* 


VI 


precious  is  the  Anglican  contrast,  which,  without  sacri- 
ficing these  attributes,  exhibits  in  such  harmony  with 
them  the  primitive  qualities  of  modesty,  simplicity, 
mildness,  and  sobriety,  originally  impressed  upon  His 
Mystical  Body  by  the  Incarnate  God,  that  it  might  be 
in  all  things,  the  brightness  of  His  glory,  and  the  express 
image  of  His  person. 

This  happy  combination,  if  on  the  one  hand  it  allows 
of  less  magnificence  in  the  Cathedral,  prevents  on  the 
other  a  poverty  of  tawdry  pretension  in  the  rustic 
Church :  and  produces  every  where  a  uniform  pro- 
priety of  beauty  which  captivates  the  imagination 
without  repelling  the  reason. 

Such  is  the  essential  poetry  of  that  religion,  which 
the  Christian  Ballads  aspire  to  illustrate,  and  humbly 
to  subserve.  To  those  who  love  not  the  Church,  they 
will  seem  as  idle  words,  but  they  tell  of  things  which 
in  the  heart  and  life  of  the  Catholic  are  dear  realities; 
realities  which  are  felt  though  they  cannot  be  un- 
derstood by  the  world  :  for  there  is  a  charm  in  the 
religious  character  which  they  help  to  form,  which  at- 
tracts very  many  who  are  incapable  of  discovering  the 
secret  of  what  affects  them.  Thus  when  we  name,  in 
a  breath,  the  rural  Walton,  the  scholastic  Hooker,  the 
saintly  Herbert,  the  courtly  Evelyn,  the  classic  Wot- 
ton,the  earnest  Laud,  the  gorgeous  Taylor,  the  magnifi- 
cent Strafford,  and  the  royal  Charles — men  of  the  same 
times,  but  of  widely  differing  circumstances  ;  the^ull- 
est  perception  feels  that  there  is  something  belonging  to 
them  in  common,  which  invests  them  with  no  ordinary 


glory.  It  is  that  beauty  of  holiness  which  they  drew 
from  the  breasts  of  the  Church  in  which  they  lived  and 
died,  and  which,  through  many  sorrows,  satisfied 
every  spiritual  want,  and  retained  the  unroving  loyalty 
of  their  pure  affections.  They  were  lovely  and  pleas, 
ant  in  their  lives,  and  in  death  they  were  not  divided  ; 
exhibiting,  in  both,  the  power  of  their  religion  to  adorn 
every  thing  they  enjoyed  or  suffered,  from  the  May-day 
ramble  of  the  fisherman,  to  the  fiery  trial  of  the 
Martyr. 

Besides  revising,  with  some  toil,  a  book  of  careless 
verses,  to  which  unexpected  favour  has  been  shown  ; 
the  author  has  completed  the  collection,  by  the  addition 
of  such  other  poems,  of  the  same  sort,  as  he  has  from 
time  to  time  produced,  since  the  Christian  Ballads 
first  appeared.  They  lack  the  boyish  exhilaration  of 
his  early  notes  ;  but  on  that  very  account  may  better 
suit  the  taste  of  many.  The  critic  indeed  will  be 
pleased  with  little  that  the  book  contains.  But  if  like 
a  pointed  arch  that  delights  in  the  moss  and  ivy  which 
would  spoil  a  Grecian  column,  it  exhibits  more  of 
Gothic  roughness  than  of  Doric  delicacy,  it  may  per- 
haps be  allowed  the  merit  of  being  in  keeping  with  the 
architectural  symbolism  of  the  holy  Faith.  May  it  be 
approved  by  Christians,  as  it  will  doubtless  be  de- 
spised by  the  World. 

St.  John's  Parish,  Hartford, 
Julv,  1847. 


BALLADS. 


BALLADS 


HYMN  OF  BOYHOOD. 

One  thing  have  I  desired  of  the  Lord,  which  I  will  require,  even  that  I  may 
dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  my  life,  to  behold  thp  fair  beauty  of 
the  Lord,  and  to  visit  His  temple.— Psalter. 

1. 

The  first  dear  thing  that  ever  I  loved 

Was  a  mother's  gentle  eye, 
That  smiled,  as  I  woke  on  the  dreamy  couch, 

That  cradled  my  infancy. 
I  never  forget  the  joyous  thrill, 

That  smile  in  my  spirit  stirred, 
Nor  how  it  could  charm  me  against  my  will, 

Till  I  laughed  like  a  joyous  bird. 

2. 

And  the  next  fair  thing  that  ever  I  loved 

Was  a  bunch  of  summer  flowers, 
With  odours,  and  hues,  and  loveliness, 

Fresh  as  from  Eden's  bowers. 
I  never  can  find  such  hues  agen, 

Nor  smell  such  a  sweet  perfume  : 
And  if  there  be  odours  as  sweet  as  then, 

'Tis  I  that  have  lost  the  bloom. 


12  HYMN    OF    BOYHOOD. 

3. 

And  the  next  dear  thing  that  ever  I  loved 

Was  a  fawn-like  little  maid, 
Half-pleased,  half-awed  by  the  frolic  boy 

That  tortured  her  doll,  and  played  : 
I  never  can  see  the  gossamere 

Which  rude  rough  zephyrs  tease, 
But  I  think  how  I  tossed  her  flossy  locks, 

With  my  whirling  bonnet's  breeze. 

4. 

And  the  next  good  thing  that  ever  I  loved, 

Was  a  bow-kite  in  the  sky ; 
And  a  little  boat  on  the  brooklet's  surf, 

And  a  dog  for  my  company  : 
And  a  jingling  hoop,  with  many  a  bound 

To  my  measured  strike  and  true  ; 
And  a  rocket  sent  up  to  the  firmament, 

When  Even  was  out  so  blue. 

5. 

And  the  next  fair  thing  I  was  fond  to  love 

Was  a  field  of  wavy  grain, 
Where  the  reapers  mowed  ;  or  a  ship  in  sail 

On  the  billowy,  billowy  main  : 
And  the  next  was  a  fiery  prancing  horse 

That  I  felt  like  a  man  to  stride  ; 
And  the  next  was  a  beautiful  sailing  boat 

With  a  helm  it  was  hard  to  guide. 


HYMN    OF    BOYHOOD.  13 


And  the  next  dear  thing  I  was  fond  to  love, 

Is  tenderer  far  to  tell ; 
'Twas  a  voice,  and  a  hand,  and  a  gentle  eye 

That  dazzled  me  with  its  spell : 
And  the  loveliest  things  I  had  loved  before 

Were  only  the  landscape  now, 
On  the  canvass  bright  where  I  pictured  her, 

In  the  glow  of  my  early  vow. 

7. 

And  the  next  good  thing  I  was  fain  to  love 

Was  to  sit  in  my  cell  alone, 
Musing  o'er  all  these  lovely  things, 

Forever,  forever  flown. 
Then  out  I  walked  in  the  forest  free, 

Where  wanton'd  the  Autumn  wind, 
And  the  coloured  boughs  swung  shiver: 

In  harmony  with  my  mind. 


And  a  spirit  was  on  me  that  next  I  loved, 

That  ruleth  my  spirit  still, 
And  maketh  me  murmur  these  sing-song  words, 

Albeit  against  my  will. 
And  I  wTalked  the  wroods  till  the  winter  came, 

And  then  did  I  love  the  snow  ; 

And  I  heard  the  gales,  through  the  wildwood  aisles, 

Like  the  Lord's  own  organ  blow. 
2 


14  HYMN    OF    BOYHOOD. 


And  the  bush  I  had  loved  in  my  greenwood  walk, 

I  saw  it  afar  away, 
Surpliced  with  snowrs,  like  the  bending  priest 

That  kneels  in  the  church  to  pray  : 
And  I  thought  of  the  vaulted  fane,  and  high, 

Where  I  stood  when  a  little  child, 
Awed  by  the  lauds  sung  thrillingly, 

And  the  anthems  undefiled. 

10. 

And  again  to  the  vaulted  church  I  went, 

And  I  heard  the  same  sweet  prayers, 
And  the  same  full  organ-peals  upsent, 

And  the  same  soft  soothing  airs  ; 
And  I  felt  in  my  spirit  so  drear  and  strange, 

To  think  of  the  race  I  ran, 
That  I  loved  the  sole  thing  that  knew  no  change 

In  the  soul  of  the  boy  and  man. 

11. 

And  the  tears  I  wept  in  the  wilderness, 

And  that  froze  on  my  lids,  did  fall, 
And  melted  to  pearls  for  my  sinfulness, 

Like  scales  from  the  eyes  of  Paul  : 
And  the  last  dear  thing  I  was  fond  to  love, 

Was  that  holy  service  high, 
That  lifted  my  soul  to  joys  above, 

And  pleasures  that  do  not  die. 


HYMN    OF    BOYHOOD.  15 

12. 

And  then,  said  I,  one  thing  there  is 

That  I  of  the  Lord  desire, 
That  ever,  while  I  on  earth  shall  live, 

I  will  of  the  Lord  require, 
That  I  may  dwell  in  his  temple  blest 

As  long  as  my  life  shall  be, 
And  the  beauty  fair  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

In  the  home  of  his  glory  see. 


ST.   SACRAMENT. 

A     LEGEND     OF     LAKE      GEORGE. 
I. 

A  Summer  shower  had  swept  the  woods  ; 

But  when,  from  all  the  scene, 
Rolled  off  at  length  the  thunder-floods, 

And  streamed  the  sunset  sheen  ; 
I  came  where  my  postillion  raised 

His  horsewhip  for  a  wand, 
And  said  there's  Horicon,  good  sir, 

And  here's  the  Bloody  Pond  I 


And  don't  you  see  yon  low  gray  wall, 

With  grass  and  bushes  grown  1 
Well,  that's  Fort  George's  palisade, 

That  many  a  storm  has  known  : 
But  here's  the  Bloody  Pond  where  lies 

Full  many  a  soldier  tall  : 
The  spring,  they  say,  was  never  pure 

Since  that  red  burial. 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  17 

3. 

'Twas  rare  to  see  !      That  vale  beneath  ; 

That  lake  so  calm  and  cool  ! 
But  mournful  was  each  lily-wreath, 

Upon  the  turbid  pool  : 
And — on,  postillion,  let  us  haste 

To  greener  banks  I  cried, 
Oh,  stay  me  not  where  man  has  stained 

With  brother's  blood  the  tide  ! 

4. 

An  hour — and  though  the  Even-star 

Was  chasing  down  the  sun, 
My  boat  was  on  thine  azure  wave, 

Sweet,  holy  Horicon  ! 
And  woman's  voice  cheered  on  our  bark, 

With  soft  bewildering  song, 
While  fireflies  darting  through  the  dark, 

Went  lighting  us  along. 

5. 

Anon,  that  bark  was  on  the  beach, 

And  soon,  I  stood  alono 
Upon  thy  mouldering  walls,  Fort  George, 

So  old,  and  ivy-grown. 
At  once,  old  tales  of  massacre 

Were  crowding  on  my  soul, 

And  ghosts  of  ancient  sentinels 

Paced  up  the  rocky  knoll. 
2* 


18  ST.    SACRAMENT. 

6. 

The  shadowy  hour  was  dark  enow 

For  fancy's  wild  campaign, 
And  moments  were  impassioned  hours 

Of  battle  and  of  pain  : 
Each  brake  and  thistle  seemed  alive 

With  fearful  shapes  of  fight, 
And  up  the  feather'd  scalp-locks  rose 

Of  many  a  tawny  sprite. 

7. 
The  Mohawk  war-whoop  howled  agen  ; 

I  heard  St.  Denys'  charge, 
And  then  the  volleyed  musketry 

Of  England  and  St.  George. 
The  vale,  the  rocks,  the  cradling  hills, 

From  echoing  rank  to  rank, 
Rung  back  the  warlike  rhetoric 

sQf  Huron  and  of  Frank. 

8. 
So,  keep  thy  name,  Lake  George,  said  I, 

And  bear  to  latest  day, 
The  memory  of  our  primal  age, 

And  England's  early  sway  ; 
And  when  Columbia's  flag  shall  hero 

Her  starry  glories  toss, 
Be  witness  how  our  fathers  fought 

Beneath  St.  George's  cross. 


I 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  19 


An  hour  again— and  shone  the  moon 

Above  the  mountain  gray, 
And  there  the  pearly  Horicon 

Leap'd  up  like  fountain  spray ; 
The  rippled  wavelets  seemed  to  dance, 

And  starlight  seemed  to  sing  ; 
I  never  saw  in  all  my  life, 

So  gay  and  bright  a  thing. 

10. 

And  naught,  save  lulling  katydid, 

Presumed  the  hush  to  mar ; 
And  then  it  was,  I  longed  to  hear 

Some  light  canoe  afar  ; 
I  listened  for  the  paddle's  dip, 

And  in  the  moon-path  clear, 
I  wished  some  Indian  bark  might  glide, 

With  all  its  shapes  of  fear. 

11. 

The  Indian  tales  of  Horicon, 
.Were  in  my  spirit  now, 
And  sachems  of  the  olden  time, 

With  more  than  Roman  brow  ; 
And  all  the  forest  histories 

That  make  our  young  romance, 
As  in  a  wizard's  glass,  they  moved 

O'er  that  blue  lake's  expanse. 


20  ST.    SACRAMENT. 

12. 

And  keep  thy  name,  clear  Horicon, 

Thine  Indian  name,  said  I  ; 
'Tis  meet,  if  thine  old  lords  are  dead, 

Their  fame  should  never  die  : 
So  keep  thy  name,  sweet  Horicon, 

And  be,  to  latest  days, 
Thine  old  free-dwellers'  monument, 

Their  glory  and  their  praise. 

13. 

But  morn  was  up,  the  beamy  morn, 

That  sapphire  lake  above, 
O'er  waters  blue  as  amethyst, 

And  innocent  as  love  ; 
And  there  'twas  glorious  to  cool 

The  glowing  breast  and  limb, 
For  never  did  a  river-nymph 

In  sweeter  ripples  swim. 

14. 

All  day  my  boat  was  on  the  lake. 

My  thoughts  upon  its  shore  ; 
And  emerald  islets,  one  by  one, 

My  joyous  footsteps  bore  : 
And  where,  from  green  and  mossy  nests, 

The  sparks  of  quartz  outshine, 
I  pulled  young  flowerets  from  the  rocks, 

And  oped  the  crystal  mine. 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  21 

15. 

But  when  the  breezy  even  came, 

Again,  outstretched  I  lay, 
Upon  the  weedy  battlements 

Of  that  old  ruin  gray. 
And  all  alone,  'twas  beautiful 

To  muse,  reclining  there, 
And  feel  the  chill,  so  desolate, 

Of  half  autumnal  air. 

16. 

Afar,  afar,  I  cast  mine  eye 

Adown  the  winding  view  : 
The  lake,  the  distance,  and  the  sky 

Were  all  a  heavenly  blue  : 
And  distant  Thung  rose  glorious 

With  colours  for  his  crown, 
And  girt  with  clouds  all  rainbow-like, 

And  robes  of  green  and  brown. 

17. 

A  holy  stillness,  and  a  calm, 

O'er  me  and  nature  stole, 
And,  like  a  babe,  the  waters  slept, 

Within  their  pebbled  bowl  : 
The  gales  that  tossed  my  tangled  hair, 

And  stirred  the  fragrant  fern, 
They  only  kissed  the  water's  breast, 

And  smoothed  its  brimming  urn. 


22  ST.    SACRAMENT. 

18. 

And  I  was  dreaming,  though  awake, 

Such  thoughts  as  made  me  sigh, 
"When,  hark  !  the  alder-bushes  break, 

And  falls  a  footstep  nigh  ! 
A  man  of  olden  years  came  up  ; 

A  brown  old  yeoman  he, 
And  on  through  thorn,  and  reedy  bank, 

He  pushed  his  way  to  me. 

19. 

He  climbed  the  rough  old  demilune, 

"With  iron-studded  shoe, 
UjDturning,  at  his  every  stride, 

Old  flints  and  bullets  too. 
And  arrow-heads  that  told  a  tale, 

Were  in  each  earthy  clod, 
That  rumbled  down  the  ravelin, 
And  crumbled  as  he  trod. 

20. 

Now  tell  me,  tell  me,  yeoman  good, 

One  tale  to  bear  away, 
With  relics  for  the  well-beloved, 

Of  this  old  ruin  gray  ; 
With  flowers,  I've  gather'd  round  the  mole, 

One  legend  would  I  twine  ; 
And  you  may  chance  remember  one, 

That  was  some  kin  of  mine  ! 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  23 

21. 

Canst  tell  of  Cleveland,  or  Monroe, 

That  fought  for  George's  sake  : 
Or  know  you  of  the  young  Montcalm, 

Or  Uncas — on  the  lake  1 
He  called  it  Lake  St.  Sacrament, 

That  yeoman  brown  and  brave, 
And  thus,  half  soldier  and  half  hind, 

His  simple  story  gave. 

22. 

My  father  was  a  Frenchman  bold, 

Came  o'er  the  bitter  sea, 
And  here  he  poured  his  red  heart's  blood 

For  Louis'  fleur-de-lys  : 
And  yonder  did  he  bid  me  swear 

To  say,  when  he  was  gone, 
He  drinks  the  Holy  Sacrament, 

Who  drinks  of  Horicon. 

23. 

And  then  a  lake-drop  on  his  lip, 

A  tear-drop  in  his  eye, 
He  blest  his  boy,  his  king,  his  God, 

And  turned  his  face  to  die  : 
A  moment — and  St.  George's  flag, 

And  England's  musket  roar, 
They  rapt  me  from  my  soldier-sire, 

And  I  beheld  no  more. 


24  ST.    SACRAMENT. 

24. 

He  drinks  the  Holy  Sacrament, 

Who  drinks  this  crystal  wave, 
That  Sacrament  baptized  his  death, 

And  was,  they  say,  his  grave  ; 
Adieu,  adieu,  thou  stranger  youth, 

But  say  when  I  am  gone, 
This  lake  is  Lake  St.  Sacrament, 

And  not  Lake  Horicon. 

25. 

And  down  the  quarry  stumbled  he, 

Ere  I  could  hold  him  back  ; 
But  sounds  of  crackling  alderbush, 

Betrayed  his  sturdy  track. 
I  saw  the  cottage-smoke  upwreathe, 

Beneath  the  mountain  shade, 
And  there  I  knew  that  old  yeoman. 

His  hermitage  had  made.     * 

26. 

And  there,  when  I  had  followed  him, 

He  told  me,  more  and  more, 
The  magic  and  the  witchery 

Of  that  romantic  shore. 
'Tis  many  a  year,  he  said,  since  here 

There  was  no  Christian  soul  ; 
The  Indian  only,  or  the  deer, 

To  taste  these  waters  stole. 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  25 


27. 


The  savage,  in  the  heat  of  noon, 

Came  panting  through  the  wood, 
To  stain  the  silver-pebbled  beach, 

And  wash  away  his  blood  : 
And  there,  where  those  tall  aspens  stand, 

They  fought  a  horrid  fray  ; 
The  very  leaves  that  shaded  them 

Are  trembling  to  this  day. 

28. 

But  years  rolled  on — the  sun  beheld 

Those  savage  chiefs  agen, 
All  gather'd  as  at  council-fires, 

Or  leagued  with  peaceful  men  : 
They  listened,  in  their  multitudes, 

To  one,  that  midst  them  stood, 
And  reared  the  cross — as  painters  draw 

John  Baptist  in  the  Wood. 

29. 

They  listened  to  his  wondrous  words 

Upon  the  pebbled  strand  : 
And  ay — they  welcomed  in  their  hearts, 

The  reign  of  God  at  hand. 
With  laud  and  anthem  rung  the  grove  ; 

And  here,  where  howled  their  yell, 

I've  heard  their  Christian  litanies, 

And  old  Te  Deum  swell. 
3 


26  ST.    SACRAMENT. 

30. 

And  when  the  golden  Easter  came, 

Again  they  gathered  there, 
All  eager  for  the  Christian  name, 

And  Christ's  dear  cross  to  bear. 
Oh  !  forest-aisles,  ye  trembled  then, 

Like  fanes  where  organs  roll, 
To  hear  those  savage-featured  men 

Outpour  the  Christian  soul. 

31. 

And  in  the  wildwood's  walks  they  knelt 

To  their  own  sins  and  pray  ; 
And  in  these  holy  water-floods, 

They  washed  their  sins  away  : 
By  Horicon,  the  Trinal  God 

Confessed  them  for  his  sons, 
And  there  the  Holy  Spirit  sealed 

His  own  begotten  ones. 

32. 

Oh  Abbana  and  Pharpar  old 

Must  yield  to  Jordan's  flow  ; 
But  never  this  clear  Horicon  ; 

The  Prophet  said  not  so  ! 
For  sins  more  dire  than  leprosy 

These  waves  have  washed  away, 
And  so  they  named  clear  Horicon, 

St.  Sacrament,  for  aye. 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  2  7 

33. 

Then  onward  sped  the  missionaire 

The  wilderness  to  wake  : 
A  voice  was  on  the  desert  air, 

For  God  a  highway  make  ! 
The  lifted  cross,  from  hill  to  hill, 

Proclaimed  the  Gospel  word, 
But  sweet  St.  Sacrament  was  still 

The  laver  of  the  Lord. 

34. 

And  years  on  years  went  rolling  by  ; 

The  Indian  boy  grew  old  ; 
But  longed  once  more,  ere  he  should  die, 

That  laver  to  behold  : 
And  panting  from  his  pilgrimage 

He  came  at  heat  of  day ; 
The  lake  was  calm  as  in  his  youth, 

St.  Sacrament,  for  aye. 

35. 

Then  fell  the  white-man's  tracks  around 

Upon  this  virgin  sand  : 
And  bowed  thy  glories,  Horicon, 

Before  his  faithless  hand  ! 
He  sent  these  waters  o'er  the  sea 

In  marble  urns  to  shine, 
And  christen'd  babes  of  Royalty 

In  streams  that  christened  mine. 


28  ST.    SACRAMENT. 

36. 

Adieu,  adieu  !  my  stranger  boy  ; 

But  say,  when  I  am  gone, 
This  lake  is  Lake  St.  Sacrament, 

And  not  Lake  Horicon  : 
And  when  some  lip  that  charmeth  thee, 

Shall  ask  of  thee  a  lay, 
Oh  bid  her  call  Lake  Horicon, 

St.  Sacrament,  for  aye. 

37. 

Then  keep  thy  name,  sweet  Lake,  said  I, 

Thine  holy  name  alone  ! 
I  love  St.  C4eorge's  memory, 

And  Indian  honour  flown  ; 
But  never  heard  I  history 

Like  thine,  old  man,  this  day  : 
The  lake  is  Christ's  for  evermore, 

St.  Sacrament,  for  aye  ! 


ANTIOCH. 


And  the  disciples  were  called  Christians  first  in  AntiocLu 

Acts  of  thv  i 


1. 

Old  Antioch  shall  answer  ye 

What  title  I  would  claim  ! 
Old  Antioch — whence  Christian  men 

Confess  their  Christian  name. 
I  wear  no  other  name  but  Christ's, 

And  His  is  name  enow, 
Writ  by  our  mother's  spousal  hand 

On  all  her  children's  brow. 


Yet  something  doth  that  mother  give, 

A  token  to  her  sons, 
And  Catholic  doth  she  surname 

Her  Lord's  begotten  ones  : 
And  these  the  children  of  her  love, 

Are  children  all  of  Heaven  ; 

Lo  I — she  answereth  to  God, 

And  these  that  thou  hast  given, 
3* 


30  ANTIOCH. 

3. 

1  know  that  many  martyrs  died 
At  rack  and  cruel  stake, 

And  Cranmer  laid  his  prelate  hand 
On  Fire,  for  Jesus'  sake  : 

And  many  a  bishop's  burning  heart, 
Like  flame  was  lost  in  flame  : 

But  Christ — none  other  died  for  me 
I'll  wear  no  other  name. 

4. 

I  wear  the  name  of  Christ  my  God, 

So  name  me  not  from  man  ! 
And  my  broad  country  Catholic, 

It  hath  nor  tribe  nor  clan  : 
For  one  and  endless  is  the  line 

Through  all  the  world  that  went, 
Commissioned  from  the  Holy  Hill 

Of  Christ's  sublime  ascent. 

5. 

For  there,  the  Lord  immaculate, 

Himself  ordained  that  came, 
And  not  himself  did  glorify 

To  wear  his  priestly  name, 
His  mantle — as  he  went  on  high, 

To  chosen  sons  bequeathed, 
And  bade  apostles  feed  his  lambs, 

As  o'er  them  all  he  breathed. 


ANTIOCH.  31 

6. 

'Twas  there,  as  God  had  sent  the  Son, 

The  Son  his  own  did  send, 
And  with  them  promised  to  abide 

For  ever — to  the  end  : 
And  faithful  to  his  plighted  love 

The  Lord  is  with  us  yet, 
Where  our  apostles  bear  the  keys 

He  left  on  Olivet. 

7. 

Then  call  me  not  to  other  folds  ; 

No  greener  fields  I  see  ; 
The  shepherds  of  my  Lord  alone 

Can  feed  a  lamb  like  me  : 
I  cannot  wander,  if  I  will, 

And  whensoever  wooed, 
Out-flames  a  burning  chronicle 

In  Peter  and  in  Jude. 

S. 

I  read  how  Korah  boldly  swung 

The  censer  God  abhorr'd, 
And  spurned  old  Aaron's  litanies, 

Commanded  of  the  Lord. 
Those  bold  apostles  echo  it, 

And  while  their  voice  I  hear, 
If  your  strange  folds  seemed  Eden's  gate 

That  waving  sword  I  fear. 


32  ANTIOCH, 


I  hear  my  Saviour's  earnest  prayer, 

That  one  we  all  may  be, 
And — oh,  how  can  I  go  with  them, 

Who  tear  Him  bodily  1 
I  see  the  heralds  of  His  cross 

Whom  Jesus  sent  of  yore  ; 
And  can  I  spurn  anointed  hands  ! 

I  love  my  Saviour  more. 

10. 

Dear  Lamb  of  God  !  I  know  full  well 

All  power  to  Thee  was  given, 
And  Oh  there  is  none  other  name, 

To  name  us,  under  Heaven  ! 
I  know  when  thou  didst  send  a  line 

Through  all  the  world  to  run, 
No  arm  of  flesh,  if  that  hath  failed, 

Can  weave  a  surer  one  ! 

11. 
Thou,  Priest  and  Prophet  both  for  us, 

Art  priest  above  in  heaven  ; 
But  to  thy  chosen  still  on  earth, 

Thy  prophet  power  is  given  ; 
Thank  God,  it  never  failed,  nor  shall  f 

That  long  unbroken  chain 
Begun  in  Thee — in  Thee  shall  end, 

When  Thou  shalt  come  again. 


ANTIOCH. 

12. 

So  Christ  forbid  that  I  should  boast, 

Save  in  his  blood-red  cross  ; 
And  let  me,  for  the  Crucified, 

Count  other  gain  but  loss  ; 
And  ye  that  scorn  his  follower, 

And  deem  my  glory  shame, 
Forget  not,  in  upbraiding  me, 

To  name  me  by  His  name. 


DREAMLAND. 


l. 
A  lay,  a  lay,  good  Christians  ! 

I  have  a  tale  to  tell, 
Though  I  have  ne'er  a  palmer's  staff, 

Nor  hat  with  scallop-shell  : 
And  though  I  never  went  astray 

From  this  mine  own  countree, 
I'll  tell  what  never  pilgrim  told 

That  ever  rode  the  sea. 

2. 

A  lay,  a  lay,  good  Christians  ! 

My  boyish  harp  is  fain 
To  chaunt  our  mother's  loveliness, 

In  an  eternal  strain  : 
And  true  it  is  I  never  strayed 

Beyond  her  careful  hand, 
And  yet  my  lay,  good  Christians, 

Is  of  a  Holy-Land. 


DREAMLAND.  oO 

3. 

In  Dreamland  once  I  saw  a  Church  ; 

Amid  the  trees  it  stood  ; 
And  reared  its  little  steeple-cross 

Above  the  sweet  greenwood  : 
And  then  I  heard  a  Dreamland  chime, 

Peal  out  from  Dreamland  tower, 
And  saw  how  Dreamland  Christian-folk 

Can  keep  the  matin-hour. 

4. 

And  Dreamland  Church  was  decent  all, 

And  green  the  churchyard  round  ; 
The  Dreamland  sextons  never  keep 

Their  kine  in  holy  ground  : 
And  not  the  tinkling  cow-bell  there 

The  poet's  walk  becalms  ; 
But  where  the  dead  in  Christ  repose, 

The  bells  ring  holy  psalms. 

5. 

And  Dreamland  folk  do  love  their  dead, 

For  every  mound  I  saw, 
Had  flowers,  and  wreaths,  and  garlands  such 

As  painters  love  to  draw  ! 
I  asked  what  seeds  made  such  fair  buds, 

And — scarce  I  trust  my  ears, 
The  Dreamland  folk  averr'd  such  things 

Do  only  grow  from — tears. 


36  DREAMLAND. 

6. 

And  while  I  living  the  graves  around, 

I  heard  the  organ  pour  : 
I  was  the  only  Christian  man 

Without  that  sacred  door  ! 
A  week-day  morn — but  Church  was  full ; 

And  full  the  chaunting  choir, 
For  Dreamland  music  is  for  God, 

And  not  for  man  and — hire. 


I  saw  the  Dreamland  minister 

In  snowy  vestments  pray  : 
He  seemed  to  think  'twas  natural 

That  prayer  should  ope  the  day  : 
And  Dreamland  folk  responded  loud 

To  blessings  in  God's  name, 
And  in  the  praises  of  the  Lord, 

They  had  no  sense  of  shame  ! 

8. 
And  Dreamland  folk,  they  kneel  them  down 

Right  on  the  stony  floor : 
I  saw  they  were  uncivilized, 

Nor  knew  how  we  adore  : 
And  yet  I  taught  them  not,  I  own, 

The  posture  more  refined, 
For  well  I  knew  the  picturesque 

►Scarce  suits  the  savage  mind. 


DREAMLAND.  37 

9. 

And  Dreamland  folk  do  lowly  bow 

To  own  that  Christ  is  God  : 
And  I  confess  I  taught  them  not 

The  fashionable  nod. 
And  Dreamland  folk  sing  Gloria 

At  every  anthem's  close, 
But  have  not  learn'd  its  value  yet 

To  stir  them  from  a  doze. 

10. 

I  saw  a  Dreamland  babe  baptized, 

With  all  the  church  to  see, 
And  strange  as  'twas — the  blessed  sight, 

'Twas  beautiful  to  me  ! 
For  many  a  voice  cried  loud  Amen, 

When,  o'er  its  streaming  brow, 
The  pearly  cross  was  character'd, 

To  seal  its  Christian  vow. 

11. 

I  learn'd  that  Dreamland  children  all, 

As  bowing  sponsors  swear, 
To  bishop's  hands  are  duly  brought, 

To  Eucharist  and  prayer  : 
And  Dreamland  maids  wear  snow-white  reila 

At  confirmation-hour  : 
For  such — an  old  apostle  wrote, 

Should  clothe  their  heads,  with  power. 


38  DREAMLAND. 

12. 

The  Dreamland  folk  they  wed  in  Church 

They  deem  the  Lord  is  there, 
And,  as  of  old  in  Galilee, 

May  bless  a  bridal  pair  : 
And  strange  enough,  the  simple  ones, 

They  see,  in  wedded  love, 
Sweet  emblems  of  their  Mother  Church, 

And  Christ  her  Lord  above. 

13. 

I  saw  a  Dreamland  funeral 

Come  up  the  shadow'd  way  : 
The  Dreamland  priest  was  surplice-clad 

To  meet  the  sad  array  ; 
And  when  his  little  flock  drew  nigh 

To  give  the  dust  their  dead, 
His  voice  went  soothingly  before, 

As  if  a  shepherd  led. 

14. 

In  earth  they  laid  the  Dreamland  man ; 

And  then  a  chaunt  was  given, 
So  sweet,  that  I  could  well  believe, 

I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  : 
And  singing  children  o'er  the  grave 

Like  cherub  chaunters  stood, 
Pouring  their  angel  lullabies, 

To  make  its  slumber  good. 


DREAMLAND.  39 

15. 

The  Dreamland  folk  count  seasons  four, 

All  woven  into  one  ! 
'Tis  Advent,  Lent,  or  Easter-tide, 

Or  Trinity  begun  : 
The  first  is  green  as  emerolde, 

The  next  of  cypress-hue, 
The  third  is  glorious  all  as  gold, 

The  fourth  is  sapphire-blue. 

16. 

The  Dreamland  folk  are  simple  ones  ! 

Who  knows  but  these  are  they, 
Described  in  ancient  chronicle, 

As  Children  of  the  Day  ! 
They  seemed  no  denizens  of  earth, 

But  more — a  pilgrim-band, 
With  no  abiding  city  here, 

Who  seek  a  better  land. 

17. 

So  ends  my  lay,  good  Christians  ; 

And  ye  that  gave  me  ear, 
Confess  that  'twas  of  Holy-Land, 

I  beckon'd  ye  to  hear  : 
Christ  bring  us  all,  who  bear  his  cross 

Unto  his  own  countree  ! 
And  so  no  more,  good  Christians, 

Of  Dreamland,  or  of  me. 


CAROL. 


My  Beloved  is  gone  down  into  His  garden;  to  the  beds  of  spices,  to  feed  ii 
the  gardens,  and  to  gather  lilies.— Canticles. 


1. 

I  know — I  know 

Where  the  green  leaves  grow, 

When  the  woods  without  are  bare  ; 
Where  a  sweet  perfume 
Of  the  woodland's  bloom, 

Is  afloat  on  the  winter  air  ! 
When  tempest  strong 
Hath  howled  along, 

With  his  war-whoop  wild  and  loud, 
Till  the  broad  ribs  broke 
Of  the  forest  oak, 

And  his  crown  of  glory  bowed  ; 
I  know — I  know 
Where  the  green  leaves  grow, 

Though  the  groves  without  are  bare. 
Where  the  branches  nod 
Of  the  trees  of  God. 

And  the  wild-vines  flourish  fair. 


CAROL.  41 

2. 

For  a  fragrant  crown 

When  the  Lord  comes  down, 

Of  the  deathless  green  we  braid, 
O'er  the  altar  bright, 
Where  the  tissue  white 

Like  winter  snow  is  laid. 
And  we  think  'tis  meet 
The  Lord  to  greet 

As  wise -men  did  of  old, 
With  the  spiceries 
Of  incense-trees, 

And  hearts  like  the  hoarded  gold, 
And  so  we  shake 
The  snowy  flake 

From  cedar  and  myrtle  fair  ; 
And  the  boughs  that  nod 
On  the  hills  of  God, 

We  raise  to  his  glory  there, 


I  know — I  know 
Where  blossoms  blow 

The  earliest  of  the  year  ; 
Where  the  passion-flower 
With  a  mystic  power, 

Its  thorny  crown  doth  rear ; 
Where  crocus  breathes, 

And  fragrant  wreaths 

4* 


42  CAROL. 

Like  a  censer  fill  the  gale  ; 

"Where  cowslips  hurst 
To  beauty  first, 

And  the  lily  of  the  vale  ; 
And  snowdrops  white  ; 
.And  pansies  bright 

As  Joseph's  coloured  vest  ; 
And  laurel-tod 
Prom  the  woods  of  God, 

Where  the  wild-bird  builds  her  nest. 

4. 
For  oh  we  fling 
Each  fragrant  thing, 

In  the  path  of  the  newly  wed  ;. 
And,  when  we  weep, 
P  at  flowers  to  sleep 

On  the  breast  of  the  early  dead. 
And  the  altar's  lawn, 
At  morning's  dawn, 

We  deck  at  Easter-tide, 
And  the  font's  fair  brim  ; 
To  tell  of  Him 

Who  liveth  though  he  died  ! 
Of  flowers  He  spake  ; 
And  for  His  sake 

Whose  text  was  the  lilies'  bloom, 
We  search  abroad 
For  the  flowers  of  God, 

To  give  Him  their  sweet  perfume- 


CAROL, 
5. 

I  know — I  know 
Where  the  waters  flow 

In  a  marble  font  and  nook, 
When  the  frosty  sprite 
In  his  strange  delight 

Hath  fetter'dthe  brawling  brook, 
When  the  dancing  stream 
With  its  broken  gleam, 

Is  locked  in  its  rocky  bed  ; 
And  the  sin^-sono-  fret 
Of  the  rivulet 

Is  hush  as  the  melted  lead  ; 
Oh  then  I  know 
Where  the  waters  flow 

As  fresh  as  the  springtime  flood, 
When  the  spongy  sod 
Of  the  fields  of  God 

And  the  hedges  are  all  in  bud. 

o 


For  the  flowing  Font 
Bids  Frost  avaunt, 

And  the  Winter's  troop  so  wild  : 
And  still  'twill  gush 
In  a  free  full  flush, 

At  the  cry  of  a  little  child. 
Oh  rare  the  gleam, 
Of  the  blessed  stream 


44  CAROL. 

Iii  the  noon  of  a  winter  day, 
When  the  ruby  stain 
Of  the  colour'd  pane, 

Falls  in,  with  holy  ray  ! 
For  then  I  think 
Of  the  brimming  brink, 

And  the  urns,  at  the  voice  divine, 
Like  Moses'  rod 
And  the  rocks  of  God, 

That  flushed  into  ruddy  wine. 


I  know — I  know 
No  place  below, 

Like  the  home  I  fear  and  love  ; 
Like  the  stilly  spot 
Where  the  world  is  not, 

But  the  nest  of  the  Holy  Dove. 
For  there  broods  He 
Mid  every  tree 

That  grows  at  the  Christmas-tide., 
And  there,  all  year, 
O'er  the  font  so  clear, 

His  hovering  wings  abide  ! 
And  so,  I  know 
No  place  below 

So  meet  for  the  bard's  true  lay, 
As  the  alleys  broad 
Of  the  Church  of  God, 

Where  Nature  is  green  for  aye. 


LAMENT. 


FOR     THE     LENTEN     SEASON, 


And  of  some,  have  compassion.— St.  Jude. 


1. 

Oh  weep  for  them  who  never  knew 

The  mother  of  our  love, 
And  shed  thy  tears  for  orphan  ones, 

Whom  angels  mourn  above  ; 
The  wandering  sheep — the  straying  lambs. 

When  wolves  were  on  the  wold, 
That  left  our  Shepherd's  little  flock, 

And  ventured  from  His  fold. 

2. 

Nay,  blame  them  not !  for  them,  the  Lord 

Hath  loved  as  well  as  you  : 
But  oh,  like  Jesus,  pray  for  them 

Who  know  not  what  they  do  : 
Oh  plead,  as  once  the  Saviour  did, 

That  we  may  all  be  One, 
That  so  the  weeping  world  may  know 

The  Father  sent  the  Son. 


46  LAMENT. 


Oh  let  thy  Lenten  litanies 

Be  full  of  prayer  for  them  ! 
Oh  go  ye  to  the  scattered  sheep 

Of  Israel's  parent  stem  ! 
Oh  keep  thy  fast  for  Christendom  ! 

For  Christ's  dear  body  mourn  ; 
And  weave  again  the  seamless  robe, 

That  faithless  friends  have  torn. 

4. 

Ye  love  your  dear  home-festivals, 

With  every  month  entwined  ; 
Oh  weep  for  those  whose  sullen  hearths 

No  Christmas  garlands  bind  ! 
Those  Iceland  regions  of  the  faith 

No  changing  seasons  cheer, 
While  our  sweet  paths  drop  fruitfulness, 

Through  all  the  joyous  year. 

5. 

What  though  some  borealis-beams 

On  even  them  may  flare  ! 
Pray  God  the  sunlight  of  his  love 

May  rise  serenely  there  ; 
For  fitful  flames,  Oh  plead  the  Lord 

To  give  His  daily  ray, 
With  manna  dropped,  at  morn  and  eve, 

Along  their  desert  way. 


LAMENT.  47 

6. 

Oh  weep  for  those,  on  whom  the  Lord 

While  here  below  did  weep, 
Lest  grievous  wolves  should  enter  in, 

Not  sparing  of  His  sheep  ; 
And  eat  thy  bitter  herbs  awhile, 

That  when  our  Feast  is  spread, 
These  too— that  gather  up  the  crumbs, 

May  eat  the  children's  bread. 


EMBER-PRAYERS. 


1. 

Let  out  thy  soul,  and  pray ! 

Not  for  thy  home  alone  ; 
Away  in  prayer,  away  ! 

Make  all  the  world  thine  own. 
Let  out  thy  soul  in  prayer  ; 

Oh,  let  thy  spirit  grow  ! 
God  gives  thee  sun  and  air  ; 

Let  the  full  "blossom  blow  ! 

2. 

There  !   dost  thou  not  perceive 

Thy  spirit  swell  within, 
And  something  high  receive, 

That  is  not  born  of  sin  1 
Oh,  paltry  is  the  soul 

That  only  self  can  heed  ! 
Sail  outward — from  the  shoal, 

And  bourgeon,  from  the  seed  ! 


EMBER-PRAYERS. 
3. 

Moth  and  the  rust  consume 

The  spangled  folds  of  pride  ; 
Dry-rot  doth  eat  the  bloom, 

And  gnaw  the  wealth  we  hide  : 
The  spirit's  selfish  care, 

Doth  die  away  the  same  ; 
But  give  it  air — free  air, 

And  how  the  soul  can  flame  ! 

4. 

Yestreen  I  did  not  know 

How  largely  I  could  live  ; 
But  Faith  hath  made  me  grow, 

To  more  than  Earth  can  give. 
Joy  !  for  a  heart  releas'd 

From  littleness  and  pride  ; 
Fast  is  the  spirit's  feast, 

And  Lent  the  soul's  high-tide. 

5. 

When  for  the  Church  I  pray'd, 
As  this  dear  Lent  began, 

My  thoughts,  I  am  afraid, 
Within  small  limits  ran. 

By  Ember-week  I  learn'd 

How  large  that  prayer  might  be, 

And  then,  in  soul,  I  burn'd 

That  all  might  pray  with  me. 
5 


50  EMBER-PRAYERS. 

6. 

Plead  for  the  victims  all 

Of  heresy  and  sect ; 
And  bow  thy  knees  like  Paul, 

For  all  the  Lord's  Elect ! 
Pray  for  the  Church — I  mean, 

For  Shem  and  Japliet  pray  : 
And  churches,  long  unseen, 

In  isles,  and  far  away  ! 

7. 

Oh,  pray  that  all  who  err 

May  thus  be  gather'd  in ; 
The  Moslem  worshipper, 

And  all  the  sects  of  sin  ! 
For  all  who  love  in  heart, 

But  have  not  found  the  way, 
pray — and  thy  teurs  will  start ! 

'Twas  so  the  Lord  did  pray. 

8. 
Now- — 'gainst  hard-hearted  Rome, 

Appealing  to  the  Lord, 
All  churches  arc  our  home, 

And  prayer,  the  battle-word  ! 
The  saints,  communion — one, 

One  Lord— one  Faith— one  birth, 
Oh,  pray  to  God  the  Son, 

For  all  his  Church  on  Earth. 


ENGLAND. 


The  glory  of  cliildren  are  their  fathers.— Pro ve rbs. 


1. 

Land  of  the  rare  old  chronicle, 

The  legend  and  the  lay, 
Where  deeds  of  fancy's  dream  are  truths 

Of  all  thine  ancient  day ; 
Land  where  the  holly-bough  is  green 

Around  the  druid's  pile, 
And  greener  yet  the  histories 

That  wreathe  his  rugged  isle  ; 


Land  of  old  story — like  thine  oak 

The  aged,  but  the  strong, 
And  wound  with  antique  mistletoe 

And  ivy-wreaths  of  song  ; 
Old  isle  and  glorious — I  have  heard 

Thy  fame  across  the  sea, 
And  know  my  fathers'  homes  are  thine  ; 

My  fathers  rest  with  thee  ! 


ENGLAND. 
3. 

I  know  they  sleep  in  hallo w'd  ground 

Beneath  the  church's  shade, 
Where  ring  old  bells  eternally, 

For  prayer  incessant  made  ; 
Nor  dull  their  ear  to  living  prayers, 

Nor  vain  the  anthem's  swell ; 
Where  Christian  sounds  are  lulling  him, 

The  Christian  slumbers  well. 

4. 

And  I  could  yet  my  dust  lay  down 

Beneath  old  England's  sward, 
For,  lull'd  by  her,  'twere  sweet  to  wait 

The  coming  of  the  Lord  : 
Oh  England,  let  thy  child  desire 

Upon  thy  breast  to  be, 
And  bless  thee  in  the  mother-words 

My  mother  taught  to  me  ! 

5. 
For  I  have  learned  them  in  the  tales 

Thy  sagest  sons  have  told, 
And  loved  their  music  in  romance 

And  roundelays  of  old  : 
And  I  have  wooed  thy  poet  tide 

From  fountain-head  along, 
From  warbled  gush,  to  torrent  roar 

And  cataract  of  song. 


ENGLAND.  53 


And  thou  art  no  strange  land  to  me, 

From  Cumberland  to  Kent, 
With  hills  and  vales  of  household  name 

And  woods  of  wild  event : 
For  tales  of  Guy  and  Robinhood 

My  childhood  ne'er  could  tire, 
And  Alfred's  poet  story  roused 

My  boyhood  to  the  lyre. 

7. 

And  I  have  lived  my  student  years 

On  Isis'  wizard  side, 
In  sooth,  no  candidate,  I  ween, 

For  Alma-Mater's  pride  ; 
For  fancy  that  could  awe  my  soul 

To  surplice,  hood,  and  gown, 
Hath  mingled  me  in  college-freaks, 

And  quarrels  with  the  Town. 

S. 

Dear  happy  homes  !  where  others  slight, 

The  boon  my  soul  had  prized, 
The  cells  where  sages  have  been  bred, 

And  human  lore  baptized  ! 
Those  walks  of  towering  Magdalene, 

Those  Christ-church  meads  so  fair, 
St.  Mary's  spire — chime  answering  chime, 

And  early  bell  for  prayer  ! 
5* 


54  ENGLAND. 


9. 


Oh  shame  ye  yawning  Balliol  men 

Who  hate  the  prayer-bell's  toll, 
That  I,  a  far-off  stranger  wight, 

Should  love  it,  in  my  soul ; 
That  oft  the  Mantuan's  hackney'd  verse 

Revives  at  thought  of  you  ; 
Oh,  happiest  of  the  happy — ye, 

If  but  your  bliss  ye  knew ! 

10. 

In  day-dreams  of  the  roving  wish, 

The  Cherwell's  banks  I've  trod  ; 
Have  pulled  an  oar  on  Isis'  tide, 

Or  strayed  with  gun  and  rod  ; 
Have  taken  rooms  ;  burglarious  thought  I 

Called  quiet  Corpus  mine ; 
And  won  a  prize ;  ye  wrangling  sophs 

Forgive  the  bold  design  ! 

11. 

It  ne'er  can  be — but,  fancy-free, 

To  live  in  one's  desire, 
To  catch  from  dreams  what  real  life 

In  Oxford  would  inspire  ; 
This  use  of  fancy  have  I  made, 

Forbidden  else  to  roam, 
Till  England  is  a  home  to  me, 

Besides  my  native  home. 


ENGLAND.  55 

I 

12. 

Fair  isle  !     Thy  Dove's  wild  dale  along 

With  "Walton  have  I  roved, 
And  London  too,  with  all  the  heart 

Of  burly  Johnson,  loved  !  • 

Chameleon-like,  my  soul  has  ta'en 

Its  every  hue  from  thine, 
From  Eastcheap's  epidemic  laugh, 

To  Avon's  gloom  divine. 

13. 

All  thanks  to  pencil,  and  the  page 

Of  graver's  mimic  art, 
That  England's  panorama  gave 

To  picture  up  my  heart ; 
That  round  my  spirit's  eye  have  built 

Thine  old  cathedral  piles, 
And  flung  the  chequered  window-light 

Adown  their  trophied  aisle3. 

14. 

I  know  thine  abbey,  Westminster, 

As  sea-birds  know  their  nest, 
And  flies  my  home-sick  soul  to  thee, 

When  it  would  find  a  rest ; 
Where  princes  and  old  bishops  sleep, 

With  sceptre  and  with  crook, 
And  mighty  spirits  haunt  around 

Each  gothic  shrine  and  nook. 


56  ENGLAND. 

15. 

I  feel  the  sacramental  hue 

Of  choir  and  chapel,  there, 
And  pictured  panes  that  chasten  down 

The  day's  unholy  glare  ; 
And  dear  it  is,  on  cold  gray  stone, 

To  see  the  sunbeams  crawl, 
In  long-drawn  lines  of  colour'd  light, 

That  streak  the  banner'd  wall. 

16. 
I  hear  the  priest's  far-dying  chaunt, 

The  organ's  thunder-roll  ; 
I  kneel  me  on  the  chilly  floor, 

And  pray  with  all  my  soul  ; 
I  feel  that  God  himself  is  there, 

And  saints  are  sleeping  round  ; 
Oh,  save  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 

'Tis  Earth's  most  holy  ground. 

17. 

Thus,  Albion,  have  I  lived  with  thee, 

Though  born  so  far  away  ; 
With  thee  I  spend  each  holy  eve, 

And  every  festal  day. 
My  Sunday  morn  is  musical, 

With  England's  steeple-tone  ; 
And  when  thy  Christmas  hearths  are  bright. 

A  blaze  is  on  my  own. 


ENGLAND.  57 

IS. 

What  though  upon  thy  clear  green  hills, 

My  footsteps  never  trod  ; 
Thine  empire  is  as  far  and  wide 

As  all  the  world  of  God  ! 
And  by  the  sea-side  glorious, 

Have  I  been  wont  to  stand, 
For  Ocean  is  old  England's  own, 

Where'er  it  beats  the  land. 

19. 

I've  seen  thy  beacon-banners  blaze 

Our  mountain  coast  along, 
And  swelled  my  soul  with  memories 

Of  old  romaunt  and  song  : 
Of  Chevy-chase,  of  Agincourt, 

Of  many  a  field  they  told ; 
Of  Norman  and  Plantaganet, 

And  all  their  fame  of  old  ! 

20. 

What  though  the  red-cross  blazonry 

Waved  fast  and  far  away  ; 
Not  so  the  nourish'd  vaunt  it  flung 

Of  Cceur-de-Lion's  day  : 
Not  so  the  golden  tales  it  told 

Of  crown  and  kingdom  won, 
And  how  my  own  forefathers  fought 

For  Christ,  at  Ascalon. 


58  ENGLAND. 

21. 

And  well  thy  banner-folds  may  bear 

In  red — the  Holy  Rod, 
Thy  priests  have  princes  been  to  men, 

Thy  princes,  priests  to  God  ! 
And  bold  to  win  a  crown  in  heaven 

The  royal  martyr  bled  ; 
The  martyrs'  noble  host  is  full 

Of  England's  noblest  dead. 

22. 

Thy  holy  Church— the  Church  of  God 

That  hath  grown  old  in  thee, 
Since  there  the  ocean -roving  Dove 

Came  bleeding  from  the  sea  ; 
When  pierced  afar,  her  weary  feet 

Could  find  no  home  but  thine, 
Until  thine  altars  were  her  nest, 

Thy  fanes  her  glory's  shrine  ,• 

23. 

At  least  that  Holy  Church  is  mine ! 

And  every  h allow' d  day, 
I  bend  where  England's  anthems  swell, 

And  hear  old  England  pray  : 
And  England's  old  adoring  rites, 

And  old  liturgic  words, 
Are  mine — but  not  for  England's  sake  ; 

I  love  them  as  the  Lord's  ! 


ENGLANP.  59 

24. 

And  I  have  sung.     By  Babel's  stream 

The  Hebrew's  harp  was  still, 
For  there,  there  was  no  God  for  him, 

No  shrine  and  holy  hill : 
But  here,  by  Hudson's  glorious  wave, 

A  song  of  thee  I'll  sound, 
For  England's  sons  and  spires  are  here, 

And  England's  God  around. 


CHRONICLES. 
I. 

THE    STORY    OF    SOME     RUINS. 
1. 

The  abbeys,  and  the  arches. 

The  old  cathedral  piles, 
Oh,  weep  to  see  the  ivy 

And  the  grass  in  all  their  aisles  ; 
The  vaulted  roof  is  fallen, 

And  the  bat  and  owl  repose 
Where  once  the  people  knelt  them, 

And  the  high  Te  Deum  rose. 

2. 

Oh,  were  they  not  our  Father's  ! 

"Was  not  his  honour  there  ! 
Or  hath  the  Lord  deserted 

His  holy  house  of  prayer  ! 
Time  was,  when  they  were  sacred 

As  the  place  of  Jacob's  rest, 
And  their  altars  all  as  spotless 

As  the  Virgin  Mother's  breast. 


CHRONICLES.  61 

3. 

Oh,  wo  !  the  hour  that  brought  him, 

The  Roman  and  his  reign, 
To  shed  o'er  all  our  temples, 

The  scarlet  hue  and  stain  : 
Till  the  mitre  and  the  crosier 

"Were  dizzen'd  o'er  with  gems, 
And  sullied  with  the  tinsel 

Of  the  Caesars'  diadems. 

4. 

But  still  our  Father  loved  us  ; 

And  the  holy  place  had  still 
Its  beauty,  and  its  glory, 

On  its  old  eternal  hill. 
His  heritage  they  trampled, 

Those  men  of  iron  rod ! 
But  still  it  tower'd  in  honour, 

The  temple  of  our  God. 

II. 

MARTYRS    REFORM    THE    CHURCH. 


Ye  abbeys  and  ye  arches, 
Ye  old  cathedral  piles, 

The  martyrs'  noble  army 
Are  in  your  hallowed  aisles. 


62  CHRONICLES. 

And  the  bishop  and  the  baron 
Have  knelt  together  there, 

And  breathed  a  vow  to  heaven 
In  agony  of  prayer. 

2. 

And  to  chase  away  the  tyrant 

From  England's  happy  home, 
They  have  risen  like  their  fathers, 

'C4ainst  the  cruel  hordes  of  Rome; 
For  oh  they  love  the  temples 

Where  virgin  Faith  has  trod, 
Though  all  too  long  within  them, 

Man  showed  himself  as  God. 


Ye  abbeys,  and  ye  arches, 

Ye  old  cathedral  jnles, 
Again  a  holy  incense 

Is  in  your  vaulted  aisles  ! 
Again  in  noble  English 

The  Christian  anthems  swell, 
And  out  the  organ  pealeth, 

Over  stream  and  stilly  dell. 


And  the  bishop,  and  the  deacon, 
And  the  presbyter  are  there, 

In  pure  and  stainless  raiment, 
At  Eucharist  and  prayer  ; 


CHRONICLES.  63 

And  the  bells  swing  free  and  merry. 

And  a  nation  shouteth  round, 
For  the  Lord  himself  hath  triumphed, 

And  His  voice  is  in  the  sound. 


III. 

BUT    REGICIDES    MAKE    DISSEXT: 
1. 

Ye  abbeys,  and  ye  arches, 

Ye  old  cathedrals  blest, 
Be  strong  against  the  earthquake, 

And  the  days  of  your  unrest  : 
For  not  the  haughty  Roman 

Could  make  old  England  bow, 
But  the  children  of  her  bosom 

Are  the  foes  that  trouble  now. 

2. 

A  gleam  is  in  the  abbey, 

And  a  sound  ariseth  there  : 
5Tis  not  the  light  of  worship, 

'Tis  not  the  voice  of  prayer; 
Their  hands  are  red  with  murder, 

And  a  prince's  fall  they  sing  ! 
They  would  slay  the  Lord  of  Glory 

Should  He  come  as^aiii  as  Kino-. 


64  CHRONICLES. 

3. 

And  a  lawless  soldier  tramples 

Where  the  holy  loved  to  kneel, 
And  he  spurns  a  bishop's  ashes 

With  his  ruffian  hoof  of  steel  ! 
Ay,  horses  have  they  stabled 

Where  the  blessed  martyrs  knelt, 
That  neigh — where  rose  the  anthem, 

And  the  psalm  that  made  us  melt. 

4. 

There,  once  a  glorious  window, 

Shed  down  a  flood  of  rays, 
With  rainbow  hues  and  holy, 

And  colours  all  ablaze  ! 
Its  pictured  panes  are  broken, 

Our  fathers'  tombs  profaned, 
And  the  font  where  we  were  christen'd, 

With  the  blood  of  brothers  stained. 

IV. 

AND    FULFIL    THE    SEVENTY-FOURTH     rSALM. 

9 

1. 

Ye  abbeys  and  ye  arches, 

Ye  old  cathedrals  dear, 
The  hearts  that  love  you  tremble, 

And  your  enemies  have  cheer  ; 


CHROMCLES.  65 

But  the  prayers  ye  heard  are  breathing, 

And  your  litanies  they  sing  ; 
There  are  holy  men  in  England 

That  are  praying  for  their  king. 

2. 

The  noble  in  the  cottage, 

While  the  hind  is  in  his  hall, 
Still  kneels,  as  if  he  heard  them, 

When  your  chimes  were  wont  to  call  ; 
And  at  morning,  and  at  evening, 

There  are  high-born  hearts  and  true, 
In  the  lowliest  huts  of  England, 

That  will  bless  the  king,  and  you. 


And  bishops,  in  their  prison, 

Will  still  the  lessons  read, 
How  the  good  are  often  troubled, 

While  the  vilest  men  succeed  ; 
How  God's  own  heart  may  honour 

Whom  the  people  oft  disown, 
And  how  the  royal  David 

Was  driven  from  his  throne. 

4. 

And  their  Psalter  mourneth  with  them. 

O'er  the  carvings  and  the  grace, 

Which  axe  and  hammer  ruin, 

In  the  fair  and  holy  place  ; 
6* 


65  CHRONICLES. 

O'er  the  havoc  they  are  making 
In  all  the  land  abroad, 

And  the  banners  of  the  cruel 
In  the  dwelling  house  of  God. 


V. 

BUT    GOD    IS    WITH    US    TO    THE    END. 
1. 

Ye  abbeys  and  ye  arches, 

How  few  and  far  between, 
The  remnants  of  your  glory 

In  all  their  pride  are  seen  ! 
A  thousand  fanes  are  fallen, 

And  the  bat  and  owl  repose 
Where  once  the  people  knelt  them, 

And  the  high  Te  Deum  rose. 

2. 

But  their  dust  and  stones  are  precious 

In  the  eyes  of  pious  men, 
And  the  baron  hath  his  manor, 

And  the  king  his  own  again  ! 
And  again  the  bells  are  ringing 

With  a  free  and  happy  sound, 
And  again  Te  Deum  riseth 

In  all  the  churches  round. 


CHRONICLES.  67 


Now  pray  ye  for  our  mother, 

That  England  long  may  be, 
The  holy,  and  the  happy, 

And  the  gloriously  free  ! 
Who  blesseth  her,  is  blessed  ! 

So  peace  be  in  her  walls  ; 
And  joy  in  all  her  palaces, 

Her  cottages  and  halls  ! 


All  ye,  who  pray  in  English, 

Pray  God  for  England,  pray  ! 
And  chiefly,  thou,  my  country, 

In  thy  young  glory's  day  ! 
Pray  God  those  times  return  not, 

'Tis  England's  hour  of  need  ! 
Pray  for  thy  mother — daughter, 

Plead  God,  for  England — plead, 


THE  CHIMES  OF  ENGLAND. 


Upon  the  bells.— Zechariah. 
1. 

The  chimes,  the  chimes  of  Motherland, 

Of  England  green  and  old, 
That  out  from  fane  and  ivied  tower 

A  thousand  years  have  toll'd. ; 
How  glorious  must  their  music  be 

As  breaks  the  hallow'd  day, 
And  calleth,  with  a  seraph's  voice, 

A  nation  up  to  pray  ! 


Those  chimes  that  tell  a  thousand  tales, 

Sweet  tales  of  olden  time  ; 
And  ring  a  thousand  memories 

At  vesper,  and  at  prime  ! 
At  bridal  and  at  burial, 

For  cottager  and  king, 
Those  chimes — those  glorious  Christian  chime.' 

How  blessedly  they  ring  ! 


THE    CHIMES    OP    EXCLAXD.  69 


Those  chimes,  those  chimes  of  Motherland, 

Upon  a  Christmas  mora, 
Outbreaking,  as  the  angels  did, 

For  a  Redeemer  born  ; 
How  merrily  they  call  afar, 

To  cot  and  baron's  hall, 
With  holly  deck'd,  and  mistletoe, 

To  keep  the  festival  ! 

4. 

The  chimes  of  England,  how  they  peal 

From  tower  and  gothic  pile, 
Where  hymn  and  swelling  anthem  fill 

The  dim  cathedral  aisle  ; 
Where  windows  bathe  the  holy  light 

On  priestly  heads  that  falls, 
And  stain  the  florid  tracery 

And  banner-dighted  walls  ! 

5. 

And  then,  those  Easter  bells,  in  Spring, 

Those  glorious  Easter  chimes  ! 
How  loyally  they  hail  thee  round, 

Old  Queen  of  holy  times  ! 
From  hill  to  hill,  like  sentinels, 

Responsively  they  cry, 
And  sing  the  rising  of  the  Lord, 

From  vale  to  mountain  high. 


70  THE    CHIMES    OF    ENGLAND. 

6. 

I  love  ye — chimes  of  Motherland, 

With  all  this  soul  of  mine, 
And  bless  the  Lord  that  I  am  sprung 

Of  good  old  English  line  : 
And  like  a  son  I  sing  the  lay 

That  England's  glory  tells  ; 
For  she  is  lovely  to  the  Lord, 

For  you,  ye  Christian  bells  ! 

7. 

And  heir  of  her  ancestral  fame, 

Though  far  away  my  birth, 
Thee  too  I  love,  my  Forest-land, 

The  joy  of  all  the  earth  ; 
For  thine  thy  mother's  voice  shall  be, 

And  here — where  God  is  king, 
With  English  chimes,  from  Christian  spires, 

The  wilderness  shall  ring-. 


SCOTLAND, 


THE     ORANGE     SACRILEGE. 


.    Though  all  the  nations  that  are  under  the   king's  dominion  obey  him,  and  fall 

away,  every  one  from  the  religion  of  their  fathers God  forbid  that  we 

should  forsake  the  law,  and  the  ordinance-!    We  will  not  hearken  to  the  king's 
words,  to  go  from  our  religion,  either  on  the  right  hand  or  the  left. — Maccabees. 


1. 

'Twas  a  true -hearted  Scotsman 

Had  risen  from  his  knees, 
All  in  a  glorious  chapel 

Reared  by  the  old  Culdees. 
That  day  the  axe  of  Orange 

On  Scotland's  altars  rung, 
And  down  fair  cross  and  crosier 

Upon  the  Earth  were  flung. 

2. 

And  as  he  rose  from  praying 

The  raving  mob  broke  in  ; 
And  as  he  passed  the  portal, 

He  heard  the  spoiler's  din. 
He  beat  his  breast — and  tear-drops 

They  stood  in  either  eye  : 
He  left  that  church  forever, 

But  thus  did  prophesy. 


72  SCOTLAND. 

3. 

Ah  me — St.  Andrew's  crosier ! 

'Tis  broken  and  laid  low  : 
God  help  thee  Church  of  Scotland, 

It  seemeth  thy  death  blow  ! 
They've  robbed  thee  of  thine  altars, 

They've  ta'en  thine  ancient  name 
But  thou'rt  the  Church  of  Scotland, 

Till  Scotland  melts  in  flame. 

4. 

Ay — hear  it,  heartless  William, 

Thou  shalt  have  ne'er  a  son  ! 
Thy  tree — it  shall  be  blighted, 

For  this  that  thou  hast  done  ! 
Thine  Orange-bough,  in  Britain, 

Shall  leave  nor  branch  nor  shoot; 
For  God  uproots  the  sovereign 

That  would  his  Church  uproot  ! 

5. 

Ay — grasp  old  Scotia's  thistle, 

Thy  daring  hand  must  bleed  ; 
But  touch  the  cross  of  Andrew, 

Thy  soul  shall  rue  the  deed  ! 
Unroof  the  Church  of  Scotland, 

She  lives  in  dens  and  caves  ; 
She  cries  to  God,  and  tyrants 

Are  ashes,  in  their  graves. 


SCOTLAND.  7o 


6. 

And  thou,  old  Church,  like  princes 

When  clowns  usurp  their  state, 
Shalt  be  confest,  in  exile, 

The  ancient,  and  the  great ! 
Not  she  that  thus  usurpeth 

Can  boast  one  grace  of  thine  ; 
That  grace — it  cometh  only 

Of  Apostolic  line. 


Then  leave  to  grim  Genevans 

Cathedral  choir  and  aisle, 
Let  psalms  of  Covenanters 

Be  quavered  there,  awhile  : 
The  very  stones  shall  flout  them, 

In  beauty  built,  and  might, 
For  apostolic  service, 

And  high  liturgic  rite. 

S. 

And  thou,  true  Church  of  Scotland, 

Cast  down,  shalt  not  despair  ; 
When  dower'd  wives  are  barren 

The  desolate  shall  bear  ; 
Thy  sons — they  shall  be  princes, 

To  take  their  fathers'  stead, 
And  shame  the  church  whose  portion, 

Is  proud,  and  full  of  bread  ! 
7 


74  SCOTLAND. 

9. 

When  o'er  the  "Western  waters 

They  seek  for  crook  and  key, 
The  Lord  shall  make  like  Hannah's 

Thy  poor  and  low  degree  ! 
Thou  o'er  new  worlds,  the  scej^tre 

Of  Shiloh  shalt  extend, 
And  a  long  line  of  children, 

From  thy  sad  breast  descend. 

10. 

And  when,  at  length,  old  Scotland, 

Her  chiefs,  and  her  true  men, 
Her  Highlands  and  her  Lowlands 

Shall  find  their  hearts  agen  : 
When  martyr' d  Sharpe  upriseth 

In  spirit  'gainst  his  foes, 
And  souls  are  bred  in  Scotland 

To  match  the  great  Montrose  ; 

11. 

In  Edin's  high  Cathedral, 

No  more  the  fish-wife's  voice  ; 
In  Glasgow's  crypts  and  cloisters, 

No  more  the  rabble's  choice ; 
Oh  then  St.  Andrew's  crosier 

Once  more  shall  be  upheld, 
And  the  Culdee  mitre  glisten 

In  Brechin  and  Dunkcld. 


SCOTLAND,  75 

12. 

See  after  See  uprearing 

Once  more  the  shatter 'd  cross  ; 
Once  more  a  bishop  treading 

The  heathery  braes  of  Ross  ; 
Fair  Elgin's  choir  enfolding 

The  Moray  shepherd's  rest, 
And  Holyrood — from  ruins 

Uprising,  bright  and  blest  ; 

13. 

From  Berwick  to  the  Orkneys, 

How  each  old  kirk  shall  gleam 
In  beauty  and  in  brightness, 

With  thy  returning  beam  ! 
One  heart  in  Gael  and  Saxon, 

In  cotter  and  in  thane  ; 
One  creed — one  church  in  Scotland, 

From  Caithness  to  Dumblane  ! 

14. 

Then  faint  not,  Church  of  Scotland  ! 

Thy  glory  and  thy  worth 
Shall  make  a  new  uprising, 

In  fair  and  sightly  Perth  ; 
Nor  long  shall  be  in  coming 

Thy  best  and  brightest  day, 
When  once  again  thy  glories 

Shall  shine  along  the  Tay. 


76  SCOTLAND. 

15. 

Bide  thou  thy  time  in  patience  ! 

The  sons  of  thy  bold  foes 
Shall  build  thine  old  waste  places, 

Dunfermline  and  Melrose. 
Where  now  the  sons  of  havoc 

Upon  thine  altars  tread, 
Thine  own  Liturgic  Service 

Shall  bless  the  Cup  and  Bread. 

15. 

Save  only  from  the  spoiler, 

That  pure  and  ancient  rite  ! 
In  Scotland's  Altar-service 

All  churches  must  unite  : 
And — as  the  Ark  of  Scotland 

Keep  thou  thy  rightful  name, 
For  thou'rt  the  Church  of  Scotland 

Till  Scotland  melts  in  flame  ! 


SEABURY'S    MITRE  ; 


IN  TRINITY   COLLEGE,   HARTFORD 


1. 

The  rod  that  from  Jerusalem, 

Went  forth  so  strong  of  yore  ; 
That  rod  of  David's  royal  stem, 

Whose  hand  the  farthest  bore  1 
St.  Paul  to  seek  the  setting  sun 

They  say,  to  Britain  prest  ; 
St.  Andrew  to  old  Caledon  ; 

But  who  still  further  West  % 

2, 

Go  ask  !— a  thousand  tongues  shall  tell 

His  name  and  dear  renown, 
AVhere  altar,  font,  and  holy  bell, 

Are  gifts  he  handed  down  : 
A  thousand  hearts  keep  warm  the  name. 

Which  share  those  gifts  so  blest  ; 
Vet  even  this  may  tell  the  same, 

First  mitre  of  the  West  ! 


78  seabury's  mitre. 

3. 

This  mitre  with  its  crown  of  thorn, 

Its  cross  upon  the  front  ; 
Not  for  a  proud  adorning  worn, 

But  for  the  battle's  brunt : 
This  helmet— with  Salvation's  sign, 

Of  one  whose  shield  was  faith  ; 
This  crown — of  him,  for  right  divine 

Who  battled  unto  death  ! 


Oh  !  keep  it — till  the  moth  shall  wear 

Its  comeliness  to  dust, 
Type  of  a  crown  that's  laid  up  where 

There  is  nor  moth  nor  rust  ; 
Type  of  the  Lord's  commission  given 

To  this,  our  Western  shore  ; 
The  rod  of  Christ — the  keys  of  heaven, 

Through  one,  to  thousands  more. 

5. 

They  tell  how  Scotia  keeps  with  awe 

Her  old  Regalia  bright, 
Sign  of  her  independent  law, 

And  proud  imperial  right ; 
But  keep  this  too  for  Scotland's  boast ; 

'Twill  tell  of  better  things, 
When  long  old  Scotia  shall  have  lost 

Those  gewgaws  of  her  kings. 


seabury's  mitre.  79 


6. 


And  keep  it  for  this  mighty  "West 

Till  truth  shall  glorious  be, 
And  good  old  Samuel's  is  confest 

Columbia's  primal  see. 
'Tis  better  than  a  diadem, 
f  Tne  crown  that  Bishop  wore, 
Whose  hand,  the  rod  of  David's  stem, 
The  furthest  Westward  bore. 


RUSTIC   CHURCHES. 
st.    Gabriel's,    Windsor,    Connecticut 

1. 

Yes— -'tis  the  village-joiner's  work, 

With  but  his  axe  and  saw  : 
No  Wykeham  was  the  humble  clerk, 

That  such  a  plan  could  draw  ! 
'Tis  what  a  rural  parish  could 

With  what  its  farms  supplied  ; 
Not  what  in  mind  and  heart  they  would, 

Had  they  the  gold  beside  ! 

2. 

Yet  hath  it  merit— in  the  eye 

That  can,  by  fancy's  aid, 
What  Time  can  only  give  supply, 

Of  shrubbery  and  shade. 
Add  but  of  ancient  elms  a  score, 

Those  undissenting  trees, 
And  he  that  passes  by,  shall  pore 

Well-pleased,  on  what  he  sees* 


RUSTIC    CHURCHES.  81 

3. 

Its  merit,  first,  is — what  'tis  not ! 

'Tis  not  that  timber  thing 
By  crude  Genevan  rites  begot, 

And  used  for  town-meeting  ! 
Nor  yet  a  type  of  changing  shifts, 

Like  halls,  low-roof  d  and  tinn'd, 
On  which  a  wooden  Babel  lifts 

Its  weather-cock  to  wind. 

4. 

Nor  does  it  bring  those  shaggy  curs 

Instinctively  to  mind, 
With  forward  parts  adorned  in  furs, 

But  shaven  close  behind  ; 
Like  many  a  pine-wood  parody 

Of  old  Athenian  fanes, 
That  fronts  a  cotton-factory 

All  fleck'd  with  window-panes  ! 

5. 

Again — so  country  parsons  speak, 

Some  merit  it  may  claim 
In  that  it  dares  to  look  antique, 

In  colour,  and  in  frame. 
And  then,  no  passer-by  can  doubt 

Its  spiritual  kin, 
For  oh,  it  tells  the  truth,  without, 

Of  what  it  is,  within  ! 


82  RUSTIC    CHURCHES. 

6. 

All  that  the  Church  requires  it  hath, 

Chancel,  and  porch,  and  nave, 
A  sacristy,  and  holy  bath 

The  sinner's  soul  to  lave  : 
And  in  the  baptist'ry,  a  well  ; 

O'er-head,  an  open-roof ; 
A  gable-cot  to  hold  the  bell ; 

The  cross — a  church's  proof  ! 

7. 

So  once— where  now  St.  Joseph's  thorn 

Blooms  by  an  abbey's  towers, 
Stood  the  poor  Briton's  church,  forlorn, 

And  ruder  far  than  ours  ! 
Nor  here  the  faithful  eye  shall  fail 

The  brightening  view  to  catch, 
That  opened  from  that  structure  frail 

Of  wicker-work  and  thatch. 


For  dear  is  even  the  first  rude  art 

Which  holy  Faith  inspires  ! 
The  whole  is  augured  from  the  part, 

Achievements — from  desires. 
At  least  such  churches  symbolize 

The  place  where  Christ  was  born  ; 
And  mangers  may  to  minsters  rise, 

As  noontide  from  the  morn. 


CIirRCHYARDS 


ST.      GEORGES,      HEMPSTEAD. 


1. 

I  never  can  see  a  churchyard  old, 

With  its  mossy  stones  and  mounds, 
And  green-trees  weeping  the  unforgot 

That  rest  in  its  hallowed  bounds  ; 
I  never  can  see  the  old  churchyard, 

But  I  breathe  to  God  a  prayer, 
That,  sleep  as  I  may  in  this  fevered  life, 

I  may  rest  when  I  slumber  there. 

2. 

Our  mother,  the  Earth,  hath  a  cradle-bed 

Where  she  gathereth  sire  and  son, 
And  the  old-world's  fathers  are  pillowed  there, 

Her  children,  every  one  ! 
And  her  cradle  it  hath  a  dismal  name, 

When  riseth  the  banquet's  din, 
And  pale  is  the  cheek  at  dance  or  wine, 

If  a  song  of  its  sleep  break  in. 


84  CHURCHYARDS. 


3. 


But  our  mother  the  Church,  hath  a  gentle  nest, 

Where  the  Lord's  dear  children  lie, 
And  its  name  is  sweet  to  a  Christian  ear, 

As  a  motherly  lullaby. 
Oh  the  green  churchyard,  the  green  churchyard, 

Is  the  couch  she  spreads  for  all, 
And  she  layeth  the  cottager's  baby  there, 

With  the  lord  of  the  tap'stry  hall ! 

4. 

Our  mother  the  Church  hath  never  a  child, 

To  honour  before  the  rest, 
But  she  singeth  the  same  for  mighty  kings, 

And  the  veriest  babe  on  her  breast ; 
And  the  bishop  goes  down  to  his  narrow  bed, 

As  the  ploughman's  child  is  laid, 
And  alike  she  blesseth  the  dark-brow'd  serf, 

And  the  chief  in  his  robe  arrayed. 

5. 

She  sprinkles  the  drops  of  the  bright  new-birth, 

The  same,  on  the  low  and  high, 
And  christens  their  bodies  with  dust  to  dust, 

When  earth  with  its  earth  must  lie  ; 
Oh  the  poor  man's  friend,  is  the  Church  of  Christ 

From  birth,  to  his  funeral  day ; 
She  makes  him  the  Lord's,  in  her  surpliced  arms, 

And  singeth  his  burial  lay. 


CHURCHYARDS.  85 

6. 

And  ever  the  bells  in  the  green  churchyard 

Are  tolling,  to  tell  ye  this  ; 
Go  pray  in  the  church,  while  pray  ye  can, 

That  so  ye  may  sleep  in  bliss. 
And  wise  is  he  in  the  glow  of  life, 

Who  weaveth  his  shroud  of  rest, 
And  graveth  it  plain  on  his  coffin-plate, 

That  the  dead  in  Christ  are  blest. 

7. 

I  never  can  see  a  green  churchyard, 

But  I  think  I  may  slumber  there, 
And  I  wonder  within  me  what  strange  disease, 

Shall  bring  me  to  homes  so  fair  ; 
And  whether  in  breast,  in  brain,  or  blood, 

There  lurketh  a  secret  sore, 
Or  whether  this  heart,  so  warm  and  full, 

Hath  a  worm  at  its  inmost  core. 


For  I  know,  ere  long,  some  limb  of  mine, 

To  the  rest,  may  traitor  prove, 
And  steal  from  the  strong  young  frame  I  wear, 

The  generous  flush  I  love  : 
I  know  I  may  burn  into  ashes  soon, 

With  this  feverish  flame  of  life  ; 
Or  the  flickering  lamp  may  soon  blaze  out, 

With  its  dying  self  at  strife. 


CHURCHYARDS. 
9. 

And  here — I  think — when  they  lay  me  down 

How  strange  will  my  slumber  be, 
The  cold  cold  clay  for  my  dreamless  head, 

And  the  turf  for  my  canopy  ; 
How  stilly  will  creep  the  long  long  years 

O'er  my  quiet  sleep  away, 
And  oh  what  a  waking  that  sleep  shall  know, 

At  the  peal  of  the  Judgment-day  ! 

10. 

Up— up  from  the  graves  and  the  clods  around 

The  quickened  bones  will  stare  ; 
i  know  that  within  this  green  churchyard 

A  host  shall  be  born  to  air  ; 
A  thousand  shall  struggle  to  birth  agen, 

From  under  the  sods  I  tread  : 
Oh,  strange — thrice  strange,  shall  the  story  be 

Of  the  field  where  they  lay  the  dead  ! 

11. 

Oh  bury  me  then,  in  the  green  churchyard, 

As  my  old  fore-fathers  rest, 
Nor  lay  me  in  cold  Necropolis, 

'Mid  many  a  grave  unblest ; 
I  would  sleep  where  the  church-bells  aye  ring  out ; 

I  would  rise  by  the  house  of  prayer, 
And  feel  me  a  moment  at  home,  on  earth, 

For  the  Christian's  home  is  there. 


CHURCHYARD-.  87 

12. 

I  never  loved  cities  of  living  men. 

And  towns  of  the  dead,  I  hate  j 
Oh  let  me  rest  in  the  churchyard  then, 

And  hard  by  the  church's  gate  : 
'Tis  there  I  pray  to  my  Saviour  Christ, 

And  I  will,  till  mine  eye  is  dim, 
That,  sleep  as  I  may  in  this  fevered  life7 

I  may  rest,  at  last,  in  Him. 


TRINITY,  OLD  CHURCH. 


EASTER    EVEN, 


Thy  servants  think  upon  her  stones,  and  it  pitieth  them  to  see   her  in  the 
dust.— Psalter. 


1. 

The  Paschal  moon  is  ripe  to-night 

On  fair  Manhada's  bay, 
And  soft  it  falls  on  Hoboken, 

As  where  the  Saviour  lay  : 
And  beams,  beneath  whose  paly  shine 

Nile's  troubling  angel  flew, 
Show  many  a  blood-besprinkled  door 

Of  our  passover  too. 

2. 

But  here  where,  many  an  holy  year, 

It  shone  on  arch  and  aisle, 
What  means  its  cold  and  silver  ray 

On  dust,  and  ruined  pile  % 
Oh  where's  the  consecrated  porch, 

The  sacred  lintel  where, 
And  where's  that  antique  steeple's  height 

To  bless  the  moonlight  air  1 


TRINITY,    OLD    CHURCH.  89 

3. 

I  seem  to  miss  a  mother's  face 

In  this  her  wonted  home  ; 
And  linger  in  the  green  churchyard 

As  round  that  mother's  tomb. 
Old  Trinity  !  thou  too  art  gone  ! 

And  in  thine  own  blest  bound, 
They've  laid  thee  low,  dear  mother  church, 

To  rest  in  holy  ground  ! 

4. 

The  vaulted  roof  that  trembled  oft 

Above  the  chaunted  psalm  ; 
The  quaint  old  altar  where  we  owned 

Our  very  Paschal  Lamb  ; 
The  chimes  that  ever  in  the  tower 

Like  seraph-music  sung, 
And  held  me  spell-bound  in  the  way 

When  I  was  very  young  ; 


The  marble  monuments  within  ; 

The  'scutcheons,  old  and  rich  ; 
And  one  bold  bishop's  effigy 

Above  the  chancel-niche  ; 
The  mitre  and  the  legend  there 

Beneath  the  coloured  pane  ; 
All  these — thou  knewest,  Paschal  moon, 

But  ne'er  shalt  know  again  ! 

8* 


90  TRINITY,    OLD    CHURCH. 

6. 

And  thou  wast  shining  on  this  spot 

That  hour  the  Saviour  rose  ! 
But  oh,  its  look,  that  Easter  morn, 

The  Saviour  only  knows. 
A  thousand  years — and  'twas  the  same? 

And  half  a  thousand  more  ; 
Old  moon,  what  mystic  chronicles, 

Thou  keepest,  of  this  shore  ! 

7. 

And  so,  till  good  Queen  Anna  reign'd, 

It  was  a  heathen  sward  : 
But  then  they  made  its  virgin  turf, 

An  altar  to  the  Lord. 
With  holy  roof  they  covered  it  ; 

And  when  Apostles  came, 
They  claimed,  for  Christ,  its  battlements, 

And  took  it,  in  God's  name. 

8. 

Then,  Paschal  moon,  this  sacred  spot 

No  more  thy  magic  felt, 
Till  flames  brought  down  the  holy  place, 

Where  our  forefathers  knelt. 
Again,  'tis  down — the  grave  old  pile  ; 

That  mother  church  sublime  ! 
Look  on  its  roofless  floor,  old  moon, 

For  'tis  thy  last — last  time  ! 


TRINITY,    OLD    CHURCH.  91 


Ay,  look  with  smiles,  for  never  there 

Shines  Paschal  moon  agen, 
Till  breaks  the  Earth's  great  Easter-day 

O'er  all  the  graves  of  men  ! 
So  wane  away,  old  Paschal  moon, 

And  come  next  year  as  bright  ; 
Eternal  rock  shall  welcome  thee, 

Our  faith's  devoutest  light  ! 

10. 

They  rear  old  Trinity  once  more  : 

And,  if  ye  weep  to  see, 
The  glory  of  this  latter  house, 

Thrice  glorious  shall  be  ! 
Oh  lay  its  deep  foundations  strong, 

And,  yet  a  little  while, 
Our  Paschal  Lamb  himself  shall  come 

To  light  its  hallowed  aisle, 


TRINITY,   NEW   CHURCH. 

ASCENSION     DAY,      1846. 


I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colours,  and  lay  thy  foundations  with  sapphires- 
And  I  will  make  thy  windows  of  agates  and  thy  gates  of  carbuncles,  and  all  thy 
borders  of  pleasant  stones.  And  all  thy  children  shall  be  taught  of  the  Lord  ; 
and  great  shall  be  the  peace  of  thy  children.— Isaiah. 


1. 

'Tis  raised  in  beauty  from  the  dust, 

And  'tis  a  goodly  j3ile  ! 
So  takes  our  infant  Church,  I  trust, 

Her  own  true  stamp  and  style. 
As  birds  put  forth  their  own  attire, 

As  shells  o'er  sea-nymphs  grow, 
'Tis  ours — nave,  chancel,  aisle  and  spire, 

And  not  a  borrowed  show. 

2. 

Not  this,  a  church  without — to  hide 

Conventicle  within  ; 
Here  is  no  masquerade  outside 

Of  but  the  lion's  skin  ! 
Not  this  a  lie  engraved  in  rocks  ! 

'Tis— what  it  shews  abroad, 
A  mountain  piled  in  shapely  blocks, 

And  made  the  House  of  God. 


TRINITY,    NEW    CHURCH.  93 

3. 

'Tis  native  comeliness  !     As  earth 

Puts  forth  her  golden  sheaves, 
As  flowers  mature  their  brilliant  birth, 

And  trees  put  on  their  leaves  ; 
As  human  flesh  grows  sound  and  fair 

Around  the  human  bone, 
So  doth  the  Church  this  glory  wear, 

And  clothe  herself  in  stone. 

4. 

How  like  herself  our  Mother  seems 

In  this — her  ancient  dress  ! 
'Tis  as  a  robe  the  gazer  deems 

Well  worn  by  loveliness. 
The  clothing  that  befits  a  queen, 

With  ease  and  grace  she  wears  ; 
Her  home  attire,  for  daily  scene , 

And  daily  work  of  prayers  ! 


Not  this  a  Gothic  gazing-stock, 

Where  naught  is  meant  or  told  ; 
Translated  into  solid  rock, 

The  prayer-book's  self  behold  ! 
Sermons  in  stones  !     Yes— more  beside, 

A  language,  and  a  voice  ! 
Much  utter'd — but  far  more  implied 

That  makes  the  heart  rejoice. 


(>  I  TRINITY,    NEW    CHURCH. 

6. 

Without — eacli  little  carving  speaks 

Of  Christ,  the  Crucified, 
To  Jews  a  stumbling-block,  to  Greek? 

'Tis  foolishness  beside  : 
But  oh,  to  all  the  faithful — see, 

From  porch  to  topmost  tower, 
It  telleth  of  the  Trinity, 

And  preacheth  Christ  with  power  ! 

7. 

Within — behold  the  promised  grace, 

Fair  stones,  and  colours  too, 
To  beautify  the  holy  place, 

And  shed  a  feeling  throuo-h  \ 
Windows  of  agates — pictured  sights 

AVith  floral  borders  bound, 
Yes — pleasant  stones,  and  sapphire-lights 

That  throw  a  glory  round. 

8. 

Oh  God,  how  beautiful  and  vast 

Men's  minds  and  fancies  grow, 
When,  in  thy  mould  of  doctrine  cast, 

Their  warm  ideas  flow  ! 
When  'tis  thy  Church  inspires  the  thought, 

And  forms  the  bold  design, 
Till,  from  a  sullen  rock,  is  wrought 

A  symbol  so  divine  ! 


TRINITY,    NEW    CHURCH.  95 


But  note  the  better  part,  as  well  : 

The  Church's  children  all, 
Called  daily,  by  the  holy  bell, 

To  prayer  and  festival. 
Oh  gather  them  from  far  abroad ; 

Oh  pray,  and  never  cease  : 
When  all  thy  sons  are  taught  of  God, 

How  great  shall  be  their  peace  ! 

10. 

Dear  cross  !  hold  fast  thy  height  in  air  : 

Stand  ever  wide,  blest  door  ! 
And  ever  crowd,  ye  faithful,  there, 

High,  lowly,  rich  and  poor  ! 
Sweet  bells  !  ring  ever  your  glad  sound, 

And  let  its  message  be 
Ho  !  ye  that  thirst — here  Christ  is  found, 

And  here  His  home  is  free. 


THE  SPIRE-CROSS. 


The  oftence  of  the  Cross.— Si.  Paul. 


1. 

Cross  of  Christ,  Star  of  grace, 
O'er  the  high  and  holy  place, 
Like  the  light  of  Jesu's  face 

So  divine, 
For  love  of  what  thou  art, 
My  best  and  chosen  part, 
I  hail  thee  in  my  heart ; 

Blessed  Sign ! 

2. 

Let  Japanese  and  Jews, 
And  Antichristian  crews, 
The  stumbling-block  refuse 

And  deride  ! 
But  oh  thou  glorious  Tree, 
Bathed  with  Jesu's  blood,  for  me, 
Thou  Cross  of  Calvary, 
Crimson  dyed  j 


THE     SPIRE-CROSS.  J7 

3. 

Their  souls  have  never  known 
What  comes  by  thee  alone, 
And  their  heart  is  like  a  stone 

In  their  breast ! 
But  mine  the  broken  Bread, 
And  the  Blood  my  Saviour  shed  ; 
And  the  Cross,  on  which  He  bled, 
Is  my  rest. 


How  glorious  is  its  form, 

In  the  starlight,  or  the  storm, 

In  the  morning,  or  the  warm 

Light  of  noon  ; 
It  peereth  in  the  air, 
O'er  the  holy  place  of  prayer, 
And  is  beautiful  and  fair, 
By  the  moon. 

5. 

Let  it  be  the  Christian's  boast; 

Let  it  glitter  from  the  coast  ! 

Like  a  watchman,  at  his  post, 

Let  it  say 

Here  the  Lord  Jehovah  dwells, 

Here  ring  the  holy  bells, 

Here  the  Church's  service  swells  ; 

Come  and  pray ! 
9 


98  THE     SPIRE-CROSS. 


As  the  rent  and  ravell'd  rag 
Of  the  soldier's  flying  flag, 
On  the  rampart's  blazing  crag, 

Rouseth  him ; 
It  points  me  to  the  prize, 
And  to  see  it  in  the  skies, 
Brings  the  tear-drops  to  my  eyes, 
And  they  swim. 


Like  a  trumpet's  stirring  psalm, 
It  reminds  me  what  I  am, 
A  soldier  of  the  Lamb  ! 

And,  right  down, 
My  soul  it  yearns  to  kneel, 
And  renew  my  Saviour's  seal, 
That  I  may,  with  newer  zeal, 

Win  His  crown. 

8. 
And  so  thou  glorious  Cross, 
On  the  steeple's  golden  boss, 
O'er  a  world  of  gilded  dross, 

Lifted  high, 
Thou  hast  been  to  me,  this  day, 
Like  a  far  descending  ray, 
That  lights  some  hut  of  clay, 
From  the  sky  ! 


THE    SPIRE-CROSS.  99 


My  banner  bright  art  thou, 
And  I  wear  thee  on  my  brow, 
With  my  baptismal  vow, 
Writ  in  gore  : 
Oh  Jesu,  from  my  heart, 
Let  its  shadow  ne'er  depart, 
But,  to  brinsr  me  where  Thou  art, 
Go  before  ! 


ORATORIES. 


PRIVATE      PRAYER     IN      CHURCHES. 


In  a  Church's  aisle  or  towers, 

Vestry,  porch,  or  chancel-side, 
If — in  prayerless  days  like  ours, 

Any  open  door  is  spied  ; 
Say  not  that  the  Sacristan 

Happens  there,  to  ply  his  broom  ; 
Say — some  viewless  friend  of  man 
Beckons  thee,  and  says  there's  room. 

'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — Go  in  ! 

'Tis  the  Christian's  home  by  right ! 
Find  some  nook,  confess  thy  sin, 
And  go  forth  in  Jesus'  might. 

2. 

Halt  not  for  some  foolish  doubt ! 

Is  it  not  thy  Father's  home  ] 
"Who  will  dare  to  turn  thee  out, 

When  the  Master  bids  thee  come  ? 


ORATORIES.  101 


Is  it  open  1    Worship  God  ! 

If  another  lounges  round, 
Talking,  staring,  laughing  broad, 

Let  him  learn — 'tis  hallowed  ground, 
'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — &c. 


Like  the  publican  of  old, 

Hide  the  face,  and  smite  the  breast, 
Say  his  words,  and — manifold 

Be  thy  secret  sins  confess'd  ! 
For  the  people  there  that  pray, 

For  the  priest,  whose  vows  are  there, 
Brother-like  a  collect  say, 

Pray  some  dear  familiar  prayer. 

'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — &c. 


Oh  'tis  sweet  a  home  to  claim 

Thus,  where'er  a  church  we  see, 

Stealing  in,  though  not  with  shame, 

Yet  to  worship  noiselessly  ; 

Like  the  birds  to  nestle  there 

Where  the  Psalmist's  cedars  grow  ; 

And  to  leave  a  fragrant  prayer 

Wafting  heavenward  as  we  go. 

'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — Go  in  ! 

'Tis  the  Christian's  home  by  right ! 

Find  some  nook — confess  thy  sin, 

And  go  forth  in  Jesus'  might. 
9* 


WAYSIDE    HOMES. 


1. 
As  I  rode  on  mine  errand  along, 

I  came  where  a  prim  little  spire 
Chimed  out  to  the  landscape  a  song, 

And  glowed  in  the  sunset  like  fire. 

2. 
Its  cross  beamed  a  beckoning  ray, 

And  the  home  of  my  Mother  I  knew  ; 
So  I  pressed  to  its  portal  to  pray, 

And  my  book,  from  my  bosom,  I  drew. 

3. 

How  sweet  was  the  service  within, 

And  the  plain  rustic  chaunt  how  sincere  ! 

How  welcome  the  pardon  of  sin, 

And  the  kind  parting  blessing  how  dear ! 

4. 

And  the  parson — I  knew  not  his  name, 

And  the  brethren — each  face  was  unknown  ; 

But  the  Church  and  the  prayers  were  the  same, 
And  my  heart  claimed  them  all  for  its  own. 


WAYSIDE     HOMES.  103 

5. 

For  I  knew — in  my  own  little  nook, 
That  eve,  the  same  Psalter  was  said, 

And  Lessons,  the  same  from  the  Book, 
By  my  far-away  darlings  were  read. 

6. 

So  I  prayed,  and  went  on  in  my  way, 

Blessing  God  for  the  Church  He  hath  given  : 

My  steed  on  his  journey  was  gay  ; 
So  was  I— on  my  journey  to  Heaven. 


LITTLE   WOODMERE. 

THE     PRAYER-BOOK     PATTERN. 
1. 

A  nave  it  had,  and  a  chancel, 

The  Church  of  Little  Woodmere ! 

A  porch  at  the  south  :  on  the  north-side 
Did  a  tower  and  its  steeple  peer. 


And  a  bell,  o'er  the  eastern  gable, 
In  a  cross-topped  belfry  swung  ; 

When  the  Litany  was  beginning, 
The  gable-bell  was  rung. 

3. 

The  chancel  it  had.  a  window, 
All  cunningly  set  with  stains  : 

There  were  angels  and  saints  and  martyrs 
Seen  in  its  pictured  paries. 

4. 

From  the  dust  and  noise  of  the  highway, 
'Twas  a  furlong  perchance  withdrawn  ; 

Hard  by  stood  the  rectory-mansion, 
On  a  trim  little  shrubbery-lawn. 


LITTLE    WOODMERE.  105 

5. 

And  all  round  the  church  was  a  churchyard, 

With  beautiful  clumps  of  trees  ; 
The  churchyard  cross  was  planted 

On  a  hillock — like  Calvary's. 

6. 
A  quaint  little  roof  o'er  the  gateway, 

Where  funerals  paused  with  the  bier  ! 
When  the  priest  came  forth,  in  his  surplice, 

He  began  the  service  here. 

7. 
The  rich  and  poor,  all  together, 

On  the  south  of  the  church  were  sown, 
To  be  raised  in  the  same  incorruption 

When  the  trumpet,  at  last,  is  blown. 

8. 
On  the  north  of  the  church  were  buried 

The  dead  of  a  hapless  fame  ; 
A  cross  and  a  wail  for  pity, 

But  never  a  date,  or  name. 

9. 
Here  and  there  was  a  quiet  corner, 

With  a  rustic  seat  in  shade, 
Where  mourners  would  come  and  ponder 

On  the  dear  ones  around  them  laid. 


106  LITTLE    WOODMERE. 

10. 

And  there  I  mused  till  the  bell  toll'd, 
And  thought,  with  the  soul  in  bliss, 

The  best  of  good  things  for  the  body- 
Were  to  sleep  in  a  spot  like  this. 

11. 

As  I  joined  in  the  throng  from  the  village 
That  were  keeping  St.  Barthelmy's  day, 

And  passed  along,  with  a  how-d'ye, 
And  festival  greeting  to  pay  ; 

12. 

I  noticed  a  train  of  dear  children  ; 

The  school  of  the  parish  stood  near, 
And,  led  by  a  dame  and  a  deacon, 

They  came — full  of  joy  and  of  fear. 

13. 

And  each  had  a  musical  Psalter, 

For  these  were  the  singers  ;  each  one 

I  fancied  might  stand  for  the  cherubs, 
They  carve  with  a  scroll,  upon  stone. 

14. 

As  I  entered  the  nave,  by  the  portal, 
I  came  to  the  font ;  and  thought 

Of  the  door  to  the  Church  Universal, 
And  how  the  new-birth  is  wrought- 


LITTLE    WOODMERE.  107 

15. 

For  a  moment  I  knelt  in  devotion  ; 

And  then — as  I  raised  mine  eyes 
And  caught  the  clear  blaze  of  the  chancel, 

In  the  glow  of  a  broad  sunrise  ; 

16. 

The  altar — all  bright  with  its  silver, 
And  the  fair  white  cloth  bespread  ; 

The  credence  prepared  for  oblation, 
The  chalice,  and  paten  of  bread  ; 

17. 

I  thought  of  the  Church  triumphant, 

And  the  altar  where  Jesus  stands, 
Our  great  High-priest  forever, 

With  a  censer  of  gold  in  his  hands. 

18. 

There  was  a  plain  cross  o'er  the  rood-loft, 

By  the  chancel's  depth  relieved  ; 
And  figures  were  carved,  in  the  railing, 

Of  saints,  who  have  fought  and  achieved. 

19. 
And  I  thought  of  the  happy  departed, 

And  of  Jesus'  descent  into  hell  ; 
And  of  babes,  and  of  glorious  virgins, 

In  Paradise-glory  that  dwell. 


108  LITTLE    WOODMERE. 

20. 

The  nave  it  was  dim,  for  its  ceiling- 
Was  dark  with  its  timbers  of  oak  : 

Of  the  Militant  Church  'twas  the  symbol ; 
And  here  knelt  the  worshipping  folk. 

21. 

They  knelt — rich  and  poor  knelt  together, 
The  ploughman  at  side  of  the  squire  : 

They  reck'd  not  of  gewgaw  or  feather, 
If  white  was  the  soul's  attire. 

22. 

On  the  gospel-side  hung  the  pulpit ; 

'Twas  corbell'd  with  angel  and  scroll : 
Xnd  now — from  the  sacristy  entered 

The  priest,  in  his  cope  and  his  stole. 

23. 

And  soon  swelled  the  tones  of  the  service  : 
The  people  were  singers,  each  one  ; 

They  chaunted  a  psalm  from  the  Psalter, 
Men  and  maidens,  the  sire  and  the  son. 

24. 

And  then  came  the  Prayer  and  Commandments, 
The  Collect,  with  fervour  devout, 

And  then  the  Epistle  and  Gospel  ; 

And  the  Creed — it  went  up  with  a  shout ! 


LITTLE    WOODMERE.  TQ9 

25. 

I  would  you  had  listened  the  sermon  : 

Nathanael,  the  saint  without  guile, 
Was  the  text— and  the  blessed  example, 

And  guileless  as  he  was  the  style. 

26. 
And  oh,  how  like  Heaven  was  communion, 

Thus  far  from  the  world  and  its  cares  ! 
If  my  life  were  but  led  in  that  village, 

'T  would  indeed  be  a  life-time  of  prayers  ! 

27. 
Afar  from  the  blast  of  polemicks, 

Afar  from  their  hate  and  strife, 
No  scorn  of  the  brawling  declaimer 

Should  turn  the  still  course  of  my  life. 

28. 
While  they  would  rail  on,  I'd  be  praying  ; 

And,  blest  with  a  foretaste  of  bliss, 
Live  only  with  Herbert  and  Ferrar, 

Forgetting  such  ages  as  this. 

29. 
With  names,  in  the  Canon  of  Heaven, 

That  shine  like  the  glittering  skies, 
Mine  too  be  the  scorn  of  the  creatures 

Whose  god  is  the  Father  of  Lies  ; 


110  LITTLE    WOODMERE. 

30. 

But — call  me  a  Jew  or  a  Pagan, 
I'd  pray  the  good  Lord  to  forgive, 

And  in  heart,  and  in  spirit,  a  Christian, 
'Tis  so  I  would  die,  and  would  live  ! 


DESOLATIONS. 


VIRGINIA      CHURCHES 


Jerusalem  lieth  waste,  and  the  gates  thereof  are  burned  with  fire :  come  and  let 
us  build  up  the  wall  of  Jerusalem,  that  we  be  no  more  a  reproach— Nehemiah, 


1. 

Hast  been  where  the  full-blossomed  bay-tree  is  blow- 
ing, 
With  odours  like  Eden's  around  1 
Hast  seen  where  the  broad-leaved  palmetto  is  grow- 

ing; 

And  wild- vines  are  fringing  the  ground  % 
Hast  sat  in  the  shade  of  catalpas,  at  noon, 

And  eat  the  cool  gourds  of  their  clime  ; 
Or  slept  where  magnolias  were  screening  the  moon, 

And  the  mocking-bird  sung  her  sweet  rhyme  % 

2. 

And  didst  mark,  in  thy  journey,  at  dew-dropping  eve, 

Some  ruin  peer  high  o'er  thy  way, 
With  rooks  wheeling  round  it,  and  ivy  to  weave 

A  mantle  for  turrets  so  gray  1 
Did  ye  ask  if  some  lord  of  the  cavalier  kind 

Lived  there,  when  the  country  was  young  ? 
And  burned  not  the  blood  of  a  Christian  to  find 

How  there  the  old  prayer-bell  had  rung  ! 


112  DESOLATIONS. 

3. 

And  did  ye  not  glow,  when  they  told  ye — the  Lord 

Had  dwelt  in  that  thistle-grown  pile  ; 
And  that  bones  of  old  Christians  were  under  its  sward, 

That  once  had  knelt  down  in  its  aisle  ? 
And  had  ye  no  tear-drops  your  blushes  to  steep, 

When  ye  thought — o'er  your  country  so  broad, 
The  bard  seeks  in  vain  for  a  mouldering  heap, 

Save  only  these  churches  of  God  ! 

4. 
Oh  ye  that  shall  pass  by  those  ruins  agen, 

Go  kneel  in  their  alleys  and  pray, 
And  not  till  their  arches  have  echoed  amen 

Rise  up,  and  fare  on,  in  your  way. 
Pray  God  that  those  aisles  may  be  crowded  once  more, 

Those  altars  surrounded  and  spread, 
While  anthems  and  prayers  are  upsent  as  of  yore, 

As  they  take  of  the  Chalice  and  Bread. 

5. 

Ay,  pray  on  thy  knees,  that  each  old  rural  fane 

They  have  left  to  the  bat  and  the  mole, 
May  sound  with  the  loud-pealing  organ  again, 

And  the  full-swelling  voice  of  the  soul. 
Peradventure,  when  next  thoushalt  journey  thereby, 

Even-bells  shall  ring  out  on  the  air, 
And  the  dim-lighted  windows  reveal  to  thine  eye, 

The  snowy-robed  pastor  at  prayer. 


CHELSEA. 


1. 

When  old  Canute  the  Dane 

Was  merry  England's  king  ; 
A  thousand  years  agone,  and  more, 

As  ancient  rymours  sing  ; 
His  boat  was  rowing  down  the  Cam 

At  eve,  one  summer  day, 
Where  Ely's  tall  cathedral  peered 

Above  the  glassy  way. 

2. 

Anon,  sweet  music  on  his  ear, 
Comes  floating  from  the  fane, 

And  listening,  as  with  all  his  soul, 
Sat  old  Canute  the  Dane  ; 

And  reverent  did  he  doff  his  crown, 
To  join  the  clerkly  prayer, 

While  swelled  old  lauds  and  litanies 

Upon  the  stilly  air. 
10* 


114  CHELSEA. 

3. 

Now,  who  shall  glide  on  Hudson's  breast, 

At  eve  of  summer  day, 
And.  cometh  where  St.  Peter's  tower 

Peers  o'er  his  coasting  way  : 
A  moment,  let  him  slack  his  oar, 

And  speed  more  still  along, 
His  ears  shall  catch  those  very  notes 

Of  litany  and  song* 

4. 

The  Church  that  sung  those  anthem  prayers 

A  thousand  years  ago, 
Is  singing  yet  by  silver  Cam, 

And  here  by  Hudson's  flow  : 
And  Glorias  that  thrilled  the  heart 

Of  old  Canute  the  Dane, 
Are  rising  yet,  at  morn  and  eve, 

From  Chelsea's  student  train. 

5. 

Venite  Exultimus,  there 

Those  ancient  scholars  sung, 
And  Jubilate  Domino 

The  vaulted  alleys  rung  : 
And  our  gray  pile  will  tremble  oft 

Beneath  the  organ's  roar, 
When  here  those  very  matin-songs, 

With  high  Te  Deum  pour  ! 


CHELSEA.  115 

6. 

And  where  are  kings  and  empires  now, 

Since  then,  that  went  and  came  % 
But  holy  Church  is  praying  yet, 

A  thousand  years  the  same  ! 
And  these  that  sing  shall  pass  away  : 

New  choirs  their  room  shall  fill  ! 
Be  sure  thy  children's  children  here, 

Shall  hear  those  anthems  still. 

7. 

For  not  like  kingdoms  of  the  world, 

The  holy  Church  of  God  ! 
Though  earthquake-shocks  be  rocking  it, 

And  tempest  is  abroad  ; 
Unshaken  as  eternal  hills, 

Unmoveable  it  stands, 
A  mountain  that  shall  fill  the  earth, 

A  fane  unbuilt  by  hands  ! 

8. 

Though  years  fling  ivy  over  it, 

Its  cross  peers  high  in  air  ; 
And  reverend  with  majestic  age, 

Eternal  youth  is  there  ! 
Oh  mark  her  holy  battlements, 

And  her  foundations  strong  ; 
And  hear,  within,  her  ceaseless  voice, 

And  her  unending  song  ! 


116  CHELSEA. 

9. 

Oh  ye,  that  in  these  latter  days 

The  citadel  defend, 
Perchance  for  you,  the  Saviour  said 

I'm  with  you  to  the  end  : 
Stand  therefore  girt  about,  and  hold 

Your  burning  lamps  in  hand, 
And  standing,  listen  for  your  Lord, 

And  till  he  cometh — stand  ! 

10. 

The  gates  of  hell  shall  ne'er  prevail 

Against  our  holy  home, 
But  Oh  be  wakeful  sentinels, 

Until  the  Master  come  ! 
The  night  is  spent — but  listen  ye  ; 

For  on  its  deepest  calm, 
What  marvel  if  the  cry  be  heard, 

The  marriage  of  the  Lamb  ! 


VIGILS. 


Let  your  loins  be  girded  about,  and  your  lights  burning. 

And  ye  yourselves  like  unto  men  that  wait  for  their  lord,  when  he  will  return 
from  the  wedding ; 

Blessed  are  those  servants  whom  the  lord,  when  he  cometh,  shall  find  watching  : 

And  if  he  shall  come  in  the  second  watch,  or  come  in  the  third  watch,  and  find 
them  so,  blessed  are  those  servants. — The  Holy  Gospel  in  the  Ordering  nf  Deacons, 


1. 

It  is  the  fall  of  eve  ; 
And  the  long  tapers,  now,  we  light 

And  watch  :  for  we  believe 
Our  Lord  may  come  at  night. 

Adeste  Fideles. 


An  hour — and  it  is  Seven, 

And  fast  away  the  evening  rolls  : 

Oh  it  is  dark  in  heaven, 
But  light  within  our  souls. 

Veni  Creator  Spiritus  ! 


118  VIGILS. 


3. 

Hark  !  the  old  bell  strikes  Eight  ! 
And  still  we  watch  with  heart  and  ear, 

For  as  the  hour  grows  late 
The  Day-star  may  be  near. 

Jubilate  Deo  ! 


4. 

Hark !   it  is  knelling  Nine  ! 
But  faithful  eyes  grow  never  dim ; 

And  still  our  tapers  shine, 
And  still  ascends  our  hymn. 

Cum  Angelis ! 


5. 

The  watchman  crieth  Ten  ! 
My  soul,  be  watching  for  the  Light, 

For  when  he  comes  agen, 
'Tis — as  the  thief  at  night. 

Nisi  Dominus  ! 


6. 

By  the  old  bell — Eleven  ! 
Now  trim  thy  lamp,  and  ready  stand 

The  world  to  sleep  is  given, 
But  Jesus  is  at  hand. 

De  profundis  ! 


VIGILS.  119 


At  Midnight — is  a  cry  ! 
Is  it  the  bridegroom  draweth  hear  ] 

Come  quickly,  Lord,  for  I 
Have  long'd  thy  voice  to  hear  ! 
Kyrie  Eleison  ! 


Could  ye  not  watch  One  hour  % 
Be  ready  :  or  the  bridal  train 

And  Bridegroom,  with  his  dower, 
May  sweep  along  in  vain. 

Miserere  mei ! 


By  the  old  steeple — Two  ! 
And  now  I  know  the  day  is  near  ! 

Watch — for  his  word  is  true, 
And  Jesus  may  appear  ! 
Dies  Irae  ! 


10. 

Three — by  the  drowsy  chime  ! 

And  joy  is  nearer  than  at  first. 
Oh,  let  us  watch  the  time 

When  the  first  light  shall  burst  ! 
Sursum  corda. 


120 


11. 

Four — and  a  streak  of  day  ! 
At  the  cock-crowing  he  may  come 

And  still  to  all  I  say, 
Watch — and  with  awe  be  dumb. 
Fili  David  ! 


12. 

Five  ! — and  the  tapers  now 
In  rosy  morning  dimly  burn ! 

Stand,  and  be  girded  thou  ; 
Thy  Lord  will  yet  return  ! 
Veni  Jesu  ! 


13. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  Matin-call  ! 
Oh,  when  our  Lord  shall  come  agen, 

At  prime  or  even-fall, 
Blest  are  the  wakeful  men  ! 

Nunc  dimittis. 


MATIN  BELLS. 


I  myself  will  awake  right  early.— Psalter, 


I. 

The  Sun  is  up  betimes, 

And  the  dappled  East  is  blushing, 
And  the  bonny  matin-chimes, 

They  are  gushing — Christian— gushing ! 
They  are  tolling  in  the  tower, 

For  another  day  begun  ; 
And  to  hail  the  rising  hour 

Of  a  brighter,  brighter,  Sun  ! 
Rise — Christian— rise  ! 

For  a  sunshine  brighter  far 
Is  breaking  o'er  thine  eyes, 

Than  the  bonny  morning-star  ! 

2. 

The  lark  is  in  the  sky, 

And  his  morning-note  is  pourino- : 
He  hath  a  wing  to  fly, 

So  he's  soaring — Christian — soaring  ! 


122  MATIN    BELLS. 

His  nest  is  on  the  ground, 

But  only  in  the  night  ; 
For  he  loves  the  matin-sound, 

And  the  highest  heaven's  height. 
Hark — Christian — h  ark, 

At  heaven-door  he  sings  ! 
And  be  thou  like  the  lark, 

With  thy  soaring  spirit-wings  ! 

3. 

The  bonny  matin-bells, 

In  their  watch-tower  they  are  swinging  ; 
For  the  day  is  o'er  the  dells, 

And  they're  singing— Christian — singing  ! 
They  have  caught  the  morning  beam 

Through  their  ivied  turret's  wreath, 
And  the  chancel-window's  gleam 

Is  glorious  beneath  : 
Go— Christian — go, 

For  the  altar  hath  a  glare, 
And  the  snowy  vestments  glow, 

Of  the  presbyter  at  prayer  ! 

4. 

There  is  morning  incense  flung 
From  the  child-like  lily-flowers  ; 

And  their  fragrant  censer  swung, 
Make  it  ours — Christian — ours  ! 


MATIN    BELLS.  123 


And  hark,  our  Mother's  hymn, 

And  the  organ-peals  we  love  ! 
They  sound  like  cherubim 

At  their  orisons  above  ! 
Pray — Christian — pray, 

At  the  bonny  peep  of  dawn, 
Ere  the  dew-drop  and  the  spray 

That  christen  it,  are  gone  ! 


THE  CURFEW. 


1. 

In  each  New-England  village 
At  nine  o'clock  at  night, 

C^'11  w^nra /VM   "Plnrrlanrl'a    /inr&m 

And  says — put  out  the  light ! 
Then  tell  they  to  their  children, 

Of  long  long  years  ago, 
The  tale  of  Battle-Abbey, 

How  they  fought  with  shaft  and  bow. 

2. 

But  here's  another  story 

New-England  wives  may  tell, 
How  he  that  bade  the  curfew 

Heard  an  unbidden  bell  : 
And  let  the  boy  that  listens, 

Which  best  he  liketh  say, 
The  bell  that  rings  for  darkness, 

Or  the  bell  that  rings  for  day. 


THE    CURFEW.  125 


3. 


When  William  lay  a-dying 

All  dull  of  eye  and  dim, 
And  he  that  conquer'd  Harold, 

Felt  one  that  conquer'd  him  ; 
He  recked  not  of  the  minutes, 

The  midnight,  or  the  morn, 
But  there  he  lay — unbreathing 

As  the  babe  that  is  still-born. 

4. 

But  suddenly  a  bell  toll'd  ! 

He  started  from  the  swound, 
First  glared,  and  then  grew  gentle, 

Then  wildly  stared  around. 
He  deemed  'twas  bell  at  even, 

To  quench  the  Saxon's  coal, 
But  oh,  it  was  a  curfew 

To  quench  his  fiery  soul. 


Now,  prithee,  holy  father  ! 

What  means  this  bell,  I  pray 
Is't  curfew-time  in  England, 

Or  am  I  far  away  1 
God  wot— it  moves  my  spirit 

As  if  it  ev'n  might  be, 

The  bells  of  mine  own  city, 

In  dear  old  Normandie. 
11* 


126  THE    CURFEW. 

6. 

Ay,  sire — thou  art  in  Rouen  ; 

-     And  'tis  the  prayer-bell's  chime, 

In  the  steeple  of  St.  Mary's 

That  tolls  the  hour  of  prime  ! 
Then  bid  them  pray  for  William, 

And  may  the  Virgin-born, 
In  the  Church  of  His  sweet  mother, 

Hear  their  praying,  this  blest  morn. 

7. 

Little  dream  the  kneeling  people 

Who  joins  them  in  their  prayers  ! 
They  deem  not  stout  king  William 

Their  paternoster  shares  : 
Nor  see  they  how  he  lifteth 

With  theirs,  his  dying  hand  : 
The  hand  that,  from  the  Saxon, 

Tore  the  crown  of  fair  England  ! 

8. 

Nor  heard  they — as  responding 

To  their  chaunting  oft  he  sighed, 
Till  rose  their  de  profundis, 

And  the  mighty  Norman  died  : 
But  I  have  thought,  who  knoweth, 

But  if  that  early  toll, 
Like  the  contrite  malefactor's, 

Saved  a  dying  sinner's  soul ! 


THE    CURFEW.  127 


9. 

In  two  worlds — the  Anglo-Saxon 

Hears  yet  the  curfew  knell ; 
Oh  might  we  learn  from  William 

That  soul-awaking  bell! 
Then  should  the  sound  that  covers 

At  night,  the  cheery  coal, 
Stir  too  the  morning-embers 

Of  worship,  in  the  soul, 


WILDMINSTER. 


An  altar  of  earth  thou  shalt  make  unto  me.-~Exodus. 


1. 

Gro  where  the  mossy  rock  shall  be, 

Thy  nature-hallow'd  shrine, 
The  le.afy  copse  thy  canopy, 

Its  fringe,  the  gadding  vine  ! 
There  let  the  clusters  round  that  blush, 

Be  sacramental  blood, 
And  fountains,  by  thy  feet  that  gush, 

Thy  pure  baptizing  flood. 

2. 

There  let  the  snoy as  /n  be  spread 

Upon  the  turfj^nound  : 
There  break  the  life-bestowing  bread, 

And  bless  the  people  round. 
There,  the  green  bush  thy  chancel  rail, 

Its  cushion'd  floor  the  sod, 
Bid  boldly  to  the  silvan  pale, 

The  kneeling  host  of  God. 


WILDMINSTER.  129 

3. 

Look  up,  and  fretted  vaults  are  there, 

And  heaven  itself  shines  through, 
Or  evening  is  depictured  fair, 

The  starlight,  and  the  blue  ! 
A  temple  never  built  by  hands, 

And  many  a  shadowed  aisle, 
There — where  the  column'd  forest  stands, 

Be  thy  cathedral  pile  ! 

4. 
There,  are  full  choir  and  antiphon 

At  lauds  and  vesper-time, 
And  everv  nir.hfi  rincrs  unison 

"With  priestly  voice,  at  prime  : 
There,  shall  thy  solitary  soul 

Find  out  its  cloister  dim, 
With  not  the  labouring  organ's  roll, 

But  nature's  gushing  hymn. 

5. 

There,  the  full  flowers  their  odours  fling 

To  bid  thee  pour  thy  prayer, 
And  vines  their  fragrant  censers  swing 

O'er  all  the  hallowed  air ; 
And  sweet  as  fuming  thuribles 

With  Heaven's  own  rites  that  blend, 
There,  from  the  wildwood's  sombre  cells, 

Shall  contrite  sighs  ascend. 


130  WILDMINSTER. 

6. 

Go  to  the  harvest-whiten'd  west, 

Ye  surpliced  priests  of  God, 
In  all  the  Christian  armour  drest, 

And  with  the  Gospel  shod  : 
Go,  for  their  feet  are  beautiful, 

That  on  the  mountain  stand, 
And,  more  than  music,  musical, 

The  watchman's  voice  at  hand. 


Go,  for  the  midnight  wanes  apace  ; 
The  Sun  himself  is  nigh  ! 

1*0  to  the  wild  ana  lonely  place, 

And  in  the  desert  cry. 
Go, — and  the  greenwoods  are  thy  fanes, 

Thine  altars — -every  sod  ! 
Say  to  the  wilderness,  He  reigns, 

Thy  Saviour  and  thy  God  ! 


Lo  !   where  the  unsent  heralds  run, 

Why  wait  thy  priests,  oh  Lord  ! 
These,  that  were  bid,  from  sun  to  sun, 

To  preach  the  GosjDel  word  1 
Oh  to  thine  harvest,  Saviour,  send 

The  hosts  of  thine  employ, 
To  reap  the  ripened  sheaves  that  bend, 

And  shout  them  home  with  joy  ! 


NASHOTAH. 

AMERICAN       MISSIONS. 
1. 

Oh  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  spreads  that  little  seed  * 
Which  was,  at  first,  of  every  seed  the  least  ! 

The  birds  of  air  shall  scarce  its  growth  out-speed  ; 
Its  world-wide  branches  knit  the  West  and  East. 

2. 

But  how  it  makes  my  heart  of  hearts  upswell, 
To  see  our  English  ritual  planted  there, 

Where  walks  his  round  Nashotah's  sentinel, 
And  breaks  its  daily  service  on  the  air ! 

3. 

Rude  as  the  Saviour's  birth-place  are  its  halls, 

O'er  which,  like  Bethlehem's  star,  the  cross  appears 

And  oft  the  watchman  of  those  outpost  walls, 
In  tented  fields,  his  wakeful  voice  uprears. 

4. 
Oft,  on  their  summer-mission,  as  they  fare, 

They  seek  the  wildwood  settler's  far  retreat, 
And  rear  their  curtained  chapel — while,  to  prayer, 

The  forest-dwellers  haste  with  ready  feet. 


132  NASHOTAH. 

5. 

And,  where,  at  dawn,  the  prairie-fox  did  bark, 
Are  heard,  by  night,  sweet  canticle  and  chaunt  : 

Where  sung  before  no  choirist  but  the  lark, 
Ring  out  the  Church's  anthems,  jubilant ! 

6. 
Then,  in  the  wilderness,  is  heard  the  voice 

Of  one  that,  like  the  Baptist,  bids  repent  ; 
While  the  rude  trappers  tremblingly  rejoice, 

And  hearts,  long-hardened,  soften  and  relent. 

7. 

And  there  the  Norway  rover,  or  the  Swede, 

Kneels  with  frank  Switzer,  and  the  florid  Dane  ; 

And  England's  exile  weeps  to  find  the  seed 

His  Mother  scattered — bound  in  sheaves  again  : 

8. 

While  here  and  there,  those  mingled  groups  amid, 
The  smoking  torches  shew  the  desert-child  ; 

The  sad  Oneida's  countenance,  half  hid, 

The  bloody  Osage — tamed,  yet  darkly  wild. 

9. 

Flares  on  the  Negro's  swarth  the  self-same  blaze  : 
Nor  lacks  the  scene,  from  Shem's  sad  tents,  some  one 

Nashotah's  priests  have  found  in  desert  ways, 
Rebecca's  child,  and  Isaac's  homeless  son. 

• 


NASHOTAH.  123 

10. 

Thus,  in  the  outskirt  earth,  earth's  races  meet, 
For  such  their  Maker's  wonderful  award, 

And,  at  our  Mother's  fair  commissioned  feet, 
Learn  of  the  Cross,  and  bow  to  own  its  Lord  ! 

11. 

Another  service  greets  the  morrow's  dawn, 

And  babes  are  christen'd,  and  a  prayer-book  left : 

Then — in  a  trice — priest,  chapel,  all  are  gone  ! 
'Tis  something  if  the  woodman  feels  bereft ! 

12. 

Oh  might  our  Mother's  ingrate  sons  that  rend 

Her  yearning  bowels,  in  the  mother-land, 
See  how  she  blesses  thus  the  world's  far  end, 
And  drop  the  butcher's  weapon  from  their  hand  1 

13. 

And  you,  ye  clerks,  'neath  Oxford's  glorious  domes 
That  kneel,  full  oft,  too  listless,  at  your  prayers, 

Think  of  the  rites  that  bless  these  forest  homes, 
And  yours,  perchance,  shall  be  as  blest  as  theirs. 

14. 

For  not  your  hymns,  that  Wykeham's  roofs  rebound, 

Not  Waynflete's  arches  wake  such  deep  delight, 

As  that  Nashotah's  wilds  alike  resound 

The  self-same  prayers,  and  own  the  same  sweet  fite ! 
12 


134  NASHOTAH. 


15. 


Oh  'tis  the  glory  of  our  service  blest 

Not  that  alone  cathedrals  hear  it  sung, 
But  that  its  music  cheers  the  world's  wild  "West, 

And  swells,  in  rudeness,  from  the  woodman's  tongue. 

16. 

And  oft  I  think — what  joy  and  strength,  in  God, 

Prophetic  vision  of  what  thus  I  sing, 
Had  given  to  saintly  Ken,  or  martyr'd  Laud, 

When  seemed  the  Church  half  dead  with  suffering ! 

17. 

Or  ev'n  to  him,  the  frail  but  reverend  sire, 

Whose  palsied  palm  passed  down  the  lineal  grace, 

Yes — ev'n  to  Cranmer,  with  that  palm  on  fire, 
And  Moses'  radiance  on  his  dying  face  ; 

18. 

Had  he  th'  Australian  wilderness  foreseen, 
Canadian  fastness,  and  the  torrid  land, 

And  priests,  despising  seas  that  roll  between, 

By  Christ  commissioned,  through  his  flaming  hand  ! 

19. 

Rejoico  we  then,  remembering  other  times 
When  hung  the  Church's  life  upon  a  thread, 

That  God  hath  slain  her  tyrants,  for  their  crimes, 
And  raised  her  up,  immortal,  from  the  dead  ! 


ST.  SILVAN'S  BELL, 


Desire  of  me,  and  I  shall  give  thee  the  heathen  for  thine  inheritance,  and  the 
utmost  parts  of  the  earth,  for  thy  possession.— Psalter. 


1. 

A  fortnight  it  was  from  Whitsuntide, 

And  a  service  was  said  that  day, 
In  a  little  church,  that  a  goad  man  built 

In  the  wilderness  far  away. 
A  twelve  month  before,  and  there  was  not  there, 

Or  temple  or  holy  bell, 
But  the  place — it  was  free  from  holiness, 

As  the  soul  of  the  Infidel. 


Five  thousand  years  this  world  is  old, 

And  twice  four  hundred  more, 
And  that  green  spot  had  forest  been, 

From  the  eldest  days  of  yore  : 
And  there  had  the  red-man  made  his  hut, 

And  the  savage  beast  his  lair, 
But  never,  since  this  old  earth  was  young, 

Was  it  hallow'd  with  Christian  prayer. 


136  ST.  silvan's    bell, 

3. 

But  now,  for  the  first,  a  bell  rung  out, 

Through  the  aisles  of  the  wild  greenwood, 
And  echo  came  back  from  the  far  far  trees, 

Like  the  hallo  of  Robin  Hood  : 
And  the  red  deer  woke,  in  his  bosky  nook, 

That  strange  strange  sound  to  hear, 
And  the  jessamine-buds  from  his  side  he  shook, 

And  he  listen'd  awhile  in  fear. 

4. 

But  the  bell  that  rings  for  the  Prince  of  Peace, 

Is  never  a  beast's  alarm, 
And  down  went  his  antler'd  head  agen, 

Like  an  infant  asleep  on  its  arm  : 
And  the  woodman  went  by,  and  stirred  him  not, 

With  his  wife,  and  children,  round, 
And  the  baby  leaped  up,  on  its  mother's  breast, 

And  laughed  at  the  church-bell's  sound. 

5. 

For  the  babe,  he  was  all  unchristened  yet, 

And  well  might  he  leap  for  joy  ; 
A  fountain  was  gushing,  where  rung  that  bell, 

That  should  make  him  a  Christian  boy  ! 
And  his  mother — she  thought  of  the  Catechist, 

And  she  blessed  the  Lord  above, 
That  her  child  should  be  baptized  for  Christ, 

And  taught  in  his  fear  and  love. 


ST.    SILVAN  8     BELL. 


137 


6. 
And  she  prayed  in  her  heart,  as  Hannah  prayed, 

He  might  kneel  in  the  chancel  fair, 
Like  children  they  brought  to  the  Lord  of  old, 

To  be  blest  with  the  bishop's  prayer  : 
And  she  saw,  far  off,  the  vested  priest, 

The  ring,  and  the  marriage-bann, 
Making  some  maiden  a  happy  wife, 

And  her  boy  a  happier  man. 

7. 
And  the  bell  rung  on  ;   arid  the  wood  sent  forth, 

From  their  log-built  homes  around, 
The  yeomanry  all  with  their  families, 

A-wondering  at  the  sound  ; 
And  tears,  I  saw,  in  an  old  man's  eye, 

That  came  from  a  far  countree  ; 
It  minded  his  inmost  soul,  he  said, 
Of  the  church-bells  over  the  sea. 
« 
8. 

For  a  boy  was  he,  in  England,  once, 

And  he  loved  the  merry  chimes  ; 
Had  heard  them  ring  out  of  a  Whitsuntide, 

And  waken  the  holiday-times  ! 
And  a  boy  was  he,  when  hither  he  came 

But  now  he  was  old  and  gray  ; 

He  had  not  thought  that  a  Christian  bell, 

Should  toll  on  his  burial  day. 
12* 


138  ST.  silvan's    bell. 

9. 

A  boy  was  he,  when  he  first  swung  axe 

Against  the  strong  oak  limb  ; 
He  was  gray-haired  now,  when  he  heard  the  bell 

And  threw  it  away  from  him  ; 
And  he  followed  the  sound — for  he  thought  of  home, 

And  the  motherly  hand  so  fair, 
That  led  him  along  through  the  churchyard  mounds, 

And  made  him  kneel  down  to  prayer. 

10. 

And  now  did  an  organ's  peal  break  out, 

And  the  bell-notes  died  away  : 
And  a  holy  bishop,  in  robes,  was  there, 

And  priests  in  their  white  array. 
And  I  heard  a  voice  go  up  the  nave, 

And  the  priests,  responding  plain  ; 
Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates — they  said, 

For  the  King  of  Glory's  train  ! 

22. 

And  I  could  not  but  weep,  for  I  knew,  on  high, 

The  Saviour  had  asked  of  God, 
That  the  utmost  lands  might  all  be  His, 

And  the  ground  whereon  I  trod : 
And  I  bless'd  the  good  Lord,  that  here  at  length 

His  own  true  heralds  came, 
To  challenge  for  Christ  His  heritage, 

And  hallow  it  with  His  name. 


ST.  silvan's    bell.  139 


12. 


Now  pray  with  me,  that  ever  there, 

St.  Silvan's  bell  may  ring, 
And  the  yeomen  brave,  with  their  children  all, 

The  praise  of  the  Saviour  sing  : 
And  pray  ye  still,  that,  further  west, 

The  song  of  the  bell  may  sound, 
Till  the  land,  from  sea  to  sea,  is  blest, 

And  the  world  is  holy  ground. 


DAILY  SERVICE. 


One  day  telleth  another.— Psalter. 


1. 

When  the  gorgeous  day  begins, 
In  the  world's  remotest  East, 

And  the  sun  his  pathway  wins, 

Bringing  back  some  glorious  feast ; 

There,  forestalling  fears  and  sins, 
Kneels  the  faithful  English  priest  : 

There  the  altar  glitters  fair, 

Spread  for  Eucharistic  prayer. 

2. 

And,  as  each  meridian  line, 

Gains  the  travelled  sun,  that  day, 

Still  begin  those  rites  divine, 
Still  new  priests  begin  to  pray  ; 

Still  are  blest  the  bread  and  wine, 
Still  one  prayer  salutes  his  ray  : 

Continent  and  ocean  round 

Rolls  the  tided  wave  of  sound  ! 


DAILY    SERVICE.  141 

3. 

Then  at  last  the  prairied  West, 

Sees  the  festal  light  appear, 
And  Nashotah's  clerks,  from  rest, 

Early  rise,  their  song  to  rear  ; 
Gird  they  then  the  snowy  vest, 

Raise  they  then  the  anthem  clear ; 
Anthems,  in  the  East,  that  rose, 
Girded  earth — and  there  must  close. 

4. 

But  when,  there,  the  holy  light 

Fades  adown  their  west  afar, 
And  begins  the  vesper  rite, 

Faithful  as  the  vesper  star, 
Then — just  then — has  passed  the  night, 

Where  our  eastern  altars  are  ; 
And  another  daylight  fair 
Wakes  a  new  earth-girding  prayer. 

5. 

Brethren  of  the  West — my  soul 

Oft,  to  you,  will  westward  wing, 
When  some  little  hymn,  I  troll, 

At  the  hour  of  offering, 
Thinking  how  'twill  onward  roll 

Till  your  voice  the  same  shall  sing  ; 
Utter'd  o'er  and  o'er  agen, 
Till  ye  give  the  last  Amen. 


142  DAILY    SERVICE. 

6. 

That  same  hymn,  ere  I  have  sung, 
Has  been  sung  in  England's  fanes, 

And  perchance,  in  barbarous  tongue, 
'Mid  the  orient  hills  and  plains  ; 

And — to  die,  the  woods  among, 

Swells,  from  aisles  and  tinted  panes, 

To  the  forest's  solemn  cells, 

Where  the  roving  red-man  dwells. 


Moves  my  spirit  at  the  thought 
That  our  service,  Anglican, 

From  the  faithful  Isle,  hath  caught 
Thus,  the  many  hearts  of  man  ; 

For  this  sign,  our  God  hath  wrought, 
'Gainst  the  heartless  Roman's  ban  j 

Seal  of  life,  and  fire  divine, 

Mother,  in  those  words  of  thine ! 

8. 

One — in  water  sanctified, 

Though  proud  Trent  confess  it  not  ; 
One — in  blood  from  Jesus'  side, 

Though  the  claim  be  long  forgot  ; 
One — in  Spirit,  far  and  wide, 

With  each  ancient  part  and  lot  ; 
Mother,  let  me  ever  be, 
One  with  Christ,  and  one  with  thee  ! 


CHRISTMAS  CAROL, 


1. 

Carol,  carol,  Christians, 

Carol  joyfully  ; 
Carol  for  the  coming 

Of  Christ's  Nativity  ; 
And  pray  a  gladsome  Christmas 

For  all  good  Christian  men  ; 
Carol,  carol,  Christians, 

For  Christmas,  come  again. 

Carol,  carcyl. 

2. 

Go  ye  to  the  forest, 

Where  the  myrtles  grow, 
Where  the  pine  and  laurel 

Bend  beneath  the  snow  : 
Gather  them  for  Jesus  ; 

Wreathe  them  for  His  shrine  ; 
Make  His  temple  glorious, 

With  the  box  and  pine. 

Carol,  carol. 


144  CHRISTMAS    CAROL. 


3. 


Wreathe  your  Christmas  garland, 

Where,  to  Christ,  we  pray  ; 
It  shall  smell  like  Carmel 

On  our  festal  day  : 
Libanus  and  Sharon, 

Shall  not  greener  be, 
Than  our  holy  chancel, 

On  Christ's  Nativity. 

Carol,  carol. 


Carol,  carol,  Christians  ! 

Like  the  Magi,  now, 
Ye  must  lade  your  caskets, 

With  a  grateful  vow  : 
Ye  must  have  sweet  incense, 

Myrrh  and  finest  gold, 
At  our  Christmas  altar, 

Humbly  to  unfold. 

Carol,  carol, 

5. 

Blow,  blow  up  the  trumpet, 

For  our  solemn  feast ; 
Gird  thine  armour,  Christian, 

Wear  thy  surplice,  priest  ! 


CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  145 

Go  ye  to  the  altar, 

Pray,  with  fervour,  pray, 
For  Jesus'  second  coming, 

And  the  Latter  Day. 

Carol,  carol. 

6. 

Give  us  grace,  oh  Saviour, 

To  put  off  in  might, 
Deeds  and  dreams  of  darkness, 

For  the  robes  of  light ! 
And  to  live  as  lowly, 

As  thyself  with  men  ; 
So  to  rise  in  glory, 

When  thou  com'st  again. 

Carol,  carol. 


13 


CHRISTENING, 


1. 

Oh,  if  there  be  a  sight,  on  earth, 
That  makes  good  angels  smile, 

*Tis  when  a  soul  of  mortal  birth, 
Is  washed  from  mortal  guile  : 

2. 

When  some  repentant  child  of  Eve's, 

In  age,  is  born  anew  j 
Or  when,  on  life's  first  buds  and  leaves, 

Falls  the  baptismal  dew. 

3. 

But  all  the  same  !     The  soul  that,  in 

That  laver  undefiled, 
Is  truly  washed  from  wrath  and  sin, 

Must  be  a  little  child. 


Children  alone  that  grace  may  claim, 
Whether,  to  babes,  be  given, 

Or  to  the  child-like  heart,  the  name 
Of  all  the  sons  of  Heaven  ! 


CHRISTENING.  147 

5. 

See,  then,  the  font,  the  church's  door, 

The  group  with  gladsome  look, 
The  waters,  and  the  priest  to  pour, 

The  sponsors,  and  the  book  ! 

6. 

What  light  is  on  all  faces,  now, 

As  low  they  bend  to  pray  ! 
How  kindly  on  the  grandsire's  brow, 

Each  furrow  smoothes  away  ! 

7. 

How  fond  the  pale  young  mother's  eye 

Lights  up,  with  tearful  charm, 
To  see  her  babe  enfolded  lie, 

Upon  the  surpliced  arm  ! 

8. 

And  he,  of  innocence,  that  wears 

That  sign  and  spotless  vest, 
How  Shepherd-like  !    Like  Him  that  bears 

The  lambkin  in  his  breast ! 

9. 

But  hark  !  the  tiny  Christian's  name  ! 

Hush  !     'Tis  the  Mystic  Trine  ! 
The  Water,  and  the  Spirit,  came, 

And,  there,  is  life  divine  ! 


148  CHRISTENING. 


10. 


The  Cross  is  signed — mysterious  seal 

Of  death,  our  life  that  won  : 
And  Christ's  dear  spouse,  for  woe  or  weal, 

Hath  borne  her  Lord  a  son. 

11. 

For  woe  or  weal !     The  grafted  shoot 

Alas  !  may  fade  and  die  ; 
Though  long  the  fatness  of  the  Root 

This  shower  of  grace  supply  ! 

12. 

But  Jesu  !  take  thy  child  from  earth, 

Ere  sense  and  guile  begin, 
If,  only  so,  this  second  birth 

May  'scape  the  death  of  sin. 


THE    CALENDAR. 


1. 

My  Prayer-book  is  a  casket  bright, 

With  gold  and  incense  stored, 
Which,  every  day,  and  every  night, 

I  open  to  the  Lord  : 
Yet  when  I  first  unclasp  its  lids 

I  find  a  bunch  of  myrrh 
Embalming  all  our  mortal  life  ; 

The  Church's  Calendar. 

2. 

But  who  would  see  an  almanac 
When  opes  his  Book  of  Prayer ; 

Of  all  the  leaves  between  its  lids, 
These,  only,  are  not  fair  ! 

So  said  I,  in  my  thoughtless  years, 
But  now,  with  awe,  I  scan 

The  Calendar,  like  Sybil  leaves 

That  tell  the  life  of  Man. 
13* 


150  THE    CALENDAR. 


God  set  the  sun  and  moon  for  signs  : 

The  Church  His  signs  doth  know, 
And  here — while  sleeps  the  sluggish  world, 

She  marks  them  as  they  go. 
Here  for  His  coming  looks  she  forth 

As,  for  her  Spouse,  the  bride  ; 
Here,  at  her  lattice,  faithfully 

She  waits  the  morning-tide. 

4. 

All  Time  is  hers,  and,  at  its  end, 

Her  Lord  shall  come  with  more  : 
As  one  for  whom  all  time  was  made 

Thus  guardeth  she  her  store  ; 
And,  doating  o'er  her  letters  old, 

As  pores  the  wife  bereft, 
Thus  daily  reads  the  Bride  of  Christ, 

Each  message  He  hath  left. 

5. 

As  prisoners  notch  their  tally-stick, 

And  wait  the  far-off  day, 
So  marks  she  days,  and  months  and  years, 

To  ponder  and  to  pray  ; 
And  year  by  year  beginning  new 

Her  faithful  task  sublime, 
How  lovingly  she  meteth  out, 

Each  portion  in  its  time  ! 


THE    CALENDAR.  151 

6. 

This  little  index,  of  thy  life, 

Thou,  all  thy  life,  shalt  find 
So  teaching  thee  to  tell  thy  days, 

That  wisdom  thou  may'st  mind. 
Oh  live  thou  by  the  Calendar  ; 

And  when  each  morn  you  kneel, 
Note  how  the  numbered  days  go  by, 

Like  spokes  in  Time's  swift  wheel. 

7. 

With  this  thy  closet  seek ;  and  learn 

What  strengthening  word  to-day, 
From  out  the  Holy  Book  of  God, 

Our  Mother  would  display  ; 
And  know  thy  prayers  go  up  on  high, 

With  thousands,  that,  unknown, 
Are  lighted  at  the  self-same  fire, 

And  mingle  at  God's  throne. 


For  so — though  severed  far  on  earth 

Together  we  are  fed  ; 
And  onward,  though  we  see  it  not, 

Together  we  are  sped  ! 
Oh  live  ye  by  the  Calendar, 

And  with  the  good  ye  dwell  ; 
The  Spirit  that  comes  down  on  them, 

Shall  lighten  you  as  well. 


THE  SOUL-DIRGE. 


Then  said  Jesus,  will  ye  also  go  away.— St.  John. 


1. 

The  organ  play'd  sweet  music 

Whileas,  on  Easter-day, 
All  heartless  from  the  altar, 

The  heedless  went  away  : 
And  down  the  broad  aisle  crowding, 

They  seem'd  a  funeral  train, 
That  were  burying  their  spirits, 

To  the  music  of  that  strain. 

2. 

As  I  listen'd  to  the  organ, 

And  saw  them  crowd  along, 
I  thought  I  heard  two  voices, 

Speaking  strangely,  but  not  strong  ; 
And  one,  it  whisper'd  sadly, 

Will  ye  also  go  away  ; 
But  the  other  spoke  exulting, 

Ha !   the  soul-dirge, — hear  it  play  ! 


THE    SOUL-DIRGE,  153 

3. 

Hear  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  the  soul-dirge  ! 

And  see  the  feast  divine  ! 
Ha!  the  jewels  of  salvation, 

And  the  trampling  feet  of  swine  ! 
Hear  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  the  soul-dirge  ! 

Little  think  they,  as  they  go, 
"What  priceless  pearls  they  tread  on, 

Who  spurn  their  Saviour  so  ! 

4. 

Hear  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  the  soul-dirge  ! 

It  was  dread  to  hear  it  play, 
While  the  famishing  went  crowding 

From  the  Bread  of  Life  away  : 
They  were  bidden,  they  were  bidden 

To  their  Father's  festal  board  ; 
But  they  all,  with  gleeful  faces, 

Turn'd  their  back  upon  the  Lord. 

5. 

You  had  thought  the  church  a  prison, 

Had  you  seen  how  they  did  pour, 
With  giddy,  giddy  faces, 

From  the  consecrated  door. 
There  was  angels'  food  all  ready, 

But  the  bidden — where  were  they  1 
O'er  the  highways  and  the  hedges, 

Ere  the  soul-dirge  ceased  to  play  ! 


154  THE    SOUL-DIRGE. 

6. 

Oh,  the  soul-dirge,  how  it  echoed 

The  emptied  aisles  along, 
As  the  open  street  grew  crowded, 

With  the  full  outpouring  throng  ! 
And  then — again  the  voices  ; 

Ha !  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  it  play  ! 
And  the  pensive,  pensive  whisper, 

Will  ye  also  go  away  1 

7. 

Few,  few  were  they  that  linger'd 

To  sup  with  Jesus  there  ; 
And  yet,  for  all  that  spurn'd  him, 

There  was  plenty,  and  to  spare  ! 
And  now,  the  food  of  angels 

Uncover'd  to  my  sight, 
All-glorious  was  the  altar, 

And  the  chalice  glitter'd  bright. 


Then  came  the  hymn  Trisagion, 

And  rapt  me  up  on  high, 
With  angels  and  archangels 

To  laud  and  magnify. 
I  seem'd  to  feast  in  Heaven  ; 

And  downward  wafted  then, 
With  angels  chaunting  round  me, 

Good-will  and  peace  to  men. 


THE    SOUL-DIRGE.  155 


I  may  not  tell  the  rapture 

Of  a  banquet  so  divine  ; 
Ho  !  every  one  that  thirsteth, 

Let  him  taste  the  bread  and  wine  ! 
Hear  the  Bride  and  Spirit  saying, 

"Will  ye  also  go  away  1 
Or — go,  poor  soul,  for  ever  ! 

Oh !   the  soul-dirge — hear  it  play  ! 


THE   CHURCH'S  DAUGHTER. 


1. 

Oh  woman  is  a  tender  tree  ! 

The  hand  must  gentle  be,  that  rears 
Through  storm  and  sunshine,  patiently, 

That  plant  of  grace,  of  smiles  and  tears. 

2. 

Let  her  that  waters,  at  the  font, 

Life's  earliest  blossoms,  have  the  care  ; 

And  where  the  garden's  Lord  is  wont 
To  walk  His  round — oh  keep  her  there. 


Who,  but  her  Mother  Church,  knows  well 
The  deep-hid  springs,  of  grief  and  joy, 

That  in  the  heart  of  woman  swell, 

And  make  that  heart — or  else  destroy  % 


Who,  but  the  Church,  can  every  power 
Of  the  true  woman,  nurse  to  life, 

Till,  fit  for  every  changeful  hour, 
Is  seen  the  maiden — woman- — wife  ! 


the   church's    daughter.  157 

5. 
?Tis  not  alone  the  radiant  face, 

And  some  accomplished  gifts,  that  shine  ; 
The  harmony  of  every  grace 

Is  nurtured  by  her  care  divine. 

6. 

She — not  the  coy  and  bashful  art, 

But  all  the  instinct  of  the  pure, 
The  virgin  soul — the  angel  heart, 

Alone  is  mindful  to  mature. 

7. 

E'vn  like  the  first  warm  sun  of  May, 

Or,  to  the  daisy,  April  showers, 
Her  earliest  lesson — how  to  pray, 

Clothes  the  young  soul  with  fragrant  flowers 

8. 

Then,  planted  by  the  altar's  pale, 

The  Church,  with  catechising  art, 
Trains  to  the  chancel's  trellis'd  rail, 

The  wandering  tendrils  of  the  heart. 

9. 

And  when  before  the  mitred  priest 

She  bids,  at  length,  her  daughter  kneel, 

What  lavish'd  gifts  of  grace  increas'd, 

Shine  from  her  dear  Redeemer's  seal  ! 
14 


158  the  church's   daughter. 

10. 

Or  when,  her  snowy  veil  beneath, 
She  stands  a  pale  and  fearful  thing, 

And,  trembling  like  her  orange -wreath, 
Gives  her  fair  finger  to  the  ring  j 

11. 

When  manly  honour  makes  her  bride, 
In  God's  own  name,  Triune  and  dread, 

And,  from  the  holy  altar's  side, 

Another  blessing  crowns  her  head  ; 

12. 

See  how  the  Church's  care,  for  her, 
Hath  done  the  jealous  parent's  part, 

And  been  to  him,  a  monitor, 

To  whom  she  gives  her  daughter's  heart. 

13. 

Nor  shall  she  e'er  desert,  through  life, 
Through  fearful  life,  that  daughter's  side, 

But  ever,  o'er  the  wedded  wife, 

Bend  fond,  as  o'er  the  kneeling  bride. 

14. 

When  the  pale  mother  clasps  her  child, 
And  pats  her  darling  to  its  rest, 

Or  sinks  to  slumbers  undefined, 

Her  bride-ring  shining  o'er  her  breast  : 


the  church's  daughter.        159 

15. 

Again,  to  hallow  that  pure  joy, 

Comes  Holy  Church  and  tells  her,  then, 

Of  Mary,  and  the  Holy  Boy  ; 

And  claims  the  turtle-doves  agen. 

16. 

Or  if,  within  the  darken'd  room, 

The  trail  of  death  be  sweeping  slow, 

The  Church  that  taught  her  unto  whom, 
Shall  teach  her,  too,  the  way  to  go. 

17. 

Then  spreads  she,  there,  an  altar  lone  ; 

Her  priest,  to  bless  and  break,  is  there, 
And  angels,  radiant  from  the  throne, 

Come  winging  round  the  scene  of  prayer. 

18. 

So  points  the  Church  to  Paradise, 

And  bids,  in  peace,  her  child  depart  ; 

Then  shuts  to  earth  the  blessed  eyes, 

And  binds  with  balm  each  bleeding  heart. 

19. 

Then  roses  pale,  and  rose-marine, 

She  scatters  o'er  the  marble  dust  ; 
And  at  the  last  heart-rending  scene, 

As  earth  takes  back  its  precious  trust  ; 


160        the  church's  daughter. 

20. 

From  the  deep  grave  she  lifts  the  eye, 
Where  the  free  spirit  wings  hath  found  ; 

And  leaves  her  child's  mortality, 
To  rise  an  angel  from  the  ground. 


I   LOVE    THE    CHURCH. 


1. 

I  love  the  Church — the  holy  Church, 

The  Saviour's  spotless  bride  ; 
And  oh,  I  love  her  palaces 

Through  all  the  land  so  wide  ! 
The  cross-topp'd  spire  amid  the  trees, 

The  holy  bell  of  prayer  ; 
The  music  of  our  Mother's  voice, 

Our  Mother's  home  is  there. 

2. 

The  village  tower — 'tis  joy  to  me, 

I  cry  the  Lord  is  here  ! 
The  village  bells — they  fill  my  soul  : 

They  more  than  fill  mine  ear  ! 
O'er  kingdoms  to  the  Saviour  won, 

Their  triumph-peal  is  hurled  ; 

Their  sound  is  now  in  all  the  earth, 

Their  words  throughout  the  world. 
14* 


162  I    LOVE    THE    CHURCH. 

3- 
And  here — eternal  ocean  cross'd, 

And  long,  long  ages  past ; 
In  climes  beyond  the  setting  sun, 

They  preach  the  Lord  at  last  ; 
And  here,  Redeemer,  are  thy  priests 

Unbroken  in  array, 
Far  from  thine  Holy  Sepulchre, 

And  thine  Ascension-day  ! 


Unbroken  in  their  lineage  ; 

Their  warrants  clear  as  when 
Thou,  Saviour,  didst  go  up  on  high, 

And  give  good  gifts  to  men  ; 
Here,  clothed  in  innocence  they  stand, 

To  shed  thy  mercy  wide, 
Baptizing  to  the  Trinal  Name, 

"With  waters  from  thy  side. 

5. 

And  here,  confessors  of  thy  cross, 

Thine  holy  orders  three, 
The  bishop,  and  the  elders  too, 

And  lowly  deacons  be  ; 
To  rule  and  feed  the  flock  of  Christ, 

To  fight,  of  faith,  the  strife, 
And  to  the  host  of  God's  Elect, 

To  break  the  Bread  of  Life. 


I    LOVE    THE    CHURCH.  163 

6. 

Here  rises,  with  the  rising  morn, 

Their  incense  unto  Thee, 
Their  bold  confession  Catholic, 

And  high  doxology  : 
Soul -melting  litany  is  here, 

And  here — each  holy  feast, 
Up  to  the  altar,  duly  spread, 

Ascends  the  stoled  priest. 

7. 

Then  with  the  message  of  our  King, 

The  herald  stands  on  high  : 
How  beautiful  the  feet  of  them 

That  on  the  mountain  cry  ! 
And  then — as  when  the  doors  were  shut, 

With  Jesus  left  alone, 
The  faithful  sup  with  Christ — and  He 

In  breaking-  bread  is  known. 


And  kneeling  at  the  altar's  rail, 

With  blessings  all  divine, 
As  from  the  Saviour's  hand,  they  take 

The  broken  bread,  and  wine  ; 
In  one  communion  with  the  saints, 

With  angels  and  the  blest, 
And  looking  for  the  blessed  hope 

Of  an  eternal  rest. 


164:  I    LOVE    THE    CHURCH. 


The  peace  of  God  is  on  their  heads  ; 

And  so  they  wend  away, 
To  homes  all  cheerful  with  the  light, 

Of  love's  inspiring  ray: 
And  through  the  churchyard  and  the  graves, 

With  kindly  tears  they  fare, 
Where  every  turf  was  decent  laid, 

And  hallowed  by  a  prayer. 

10. 

The  dead  in  Christ — they  rest  in  hope  ; 

And  o'er  their  sleep  sublime, 
The  shadow  of  the  steeple  moves, 

From  morn  to  vesper-chime  : 
On  every  mound,  in  solemn  shade, 

Its  imaged  cross  doth  lie, 
As  goes  the  sunlight  to  the  west, 

Or  rides  the  moon  on  high. 

11. 

I  love  the  Church— the  holy  Church, 

That  o'er  our  life  presides, 
The  birth,  the  bridal,  and  the  grave, 

And  many  an  hour  besides  ! 
Be  mine,  through  life,  to  live  in  her, 

And  when  the  Lord  shall  call, 
To  die  in  her — the  spousj  of  Christ, 

The  Mother  of  us  all. 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


PREFATORY  XOTE. 

The  Christian'  Ballads  were  originally  contributed  to  the  Church- 
man in  1839.  Several  of  them  were  soon  republished  in  England,  and 
then  again  circulated  in  America,  credited  to  the  English  periodicals 
which  had  borrowed  them  ;  when,  as  they  seemed  to  enjoy  some  favour, 
they  were  collected,  and  published  at  New  York,  in  the  following  year. 

The  following  are  the  ballads  which  were  contained  in  the  first 
edition:  St.  Sacrament  ;  Hymn  of  Boyhood  ;  Antioch  ;  Chronicles  ; 
Desolations  ;  Churchyards  ;  Trinity,  Old  Church  ;  England  ;  Chelsea  ; 
Vigils;  Matin-bells;  The  Chimes  of  England  ;  Wildminster  ;  Dream- 
land; Carol ;  Lament;  St.  Silvan's  Bell;  and,  I  love  the  Church. 

The  additional  ballads  which  appear  in  the  present  edition,  have,  with 
a  few  exceptions,  been  written  since  1840 ;  and  the  others  are  given 
with  some  additions  and  amendments. 


I. 
ST.  SACRAMENT. 
Lake  George — the  most  beautiful  sheet  of  water  in  the  State  of  New- 
York—  was  called  Horicon  by  the   Aborigines  ;    but,  by  the  French 
missionaries,  was   named    St.  Sacriment ;    because  they   deemed   its 
waters  too  pure  for  anything  but  the  holy  Sacrament  of  Baptism,  and 


168      *  NOTES. 

are  said  to  have  sent  specimens  to  France,  to  be  used  for  that  purpose. 
The  Royal  American  army  gave  the  lake  its  popular  name  in  compliment 
to  the  reigning  sovereign,  and  as  a  token  of  their  attachment  to  the  house 
of  Hanover. 

The  visit  commemorated  in  the  ballad  was  made  in  the  summerof  1839. 

Page  16. —  The  Bloody  Pond.  A  dark  looking,  little,  circular  pond, 
near  the  southern  extremity  of  the  lake,  is  so  called,  from  its  having  been 
the  receptacle  of  the  bodies  of  the  English  and  Americans,  who  were 
massacred  by  the  Indians,  after  the  capitulation  of  Fort  William  Henry, 
in  the  old  French  war. 

Page  16. — Fort  George.  The  ruins  of  this  fort  are  yet  in  good 
preservation  ;  but  of  Fort  William  Henry  nothing  but  mounds  and  em- 
bankments remain. 

Page  19. — Sachems.  Some  of  my  readers  may  not  know  that  such  is 
the  aboriginal  term  for  the  Indian  chiefs. 

Page  20. — Emerald  islets.  The  surface  of  the  lake  is  broken  by  in- 
numerable little  islands,  some  of  them  but  a  few  feet  in  diameter,  which 
look  as  if  they  merely  floated  on  the  water.  You  are  told  by  the  boat- 
men, who  row  you  about,  that  the  islands  are  just  one  for  every  day  in  the 
year  ;  an  assertion  which  I  cannot  dispute. 

Page  21. — Distant  Thing.  This  fine  mountain,  which  some  call 
Tongue  mountain,  is  the  limit  of  one's  view,  to  the  northward,  from  the 
walls  of  Fort  George. 

Page  21. — Its  brimming  urn.  Lake  George  may  well  be  called  an 
overflowing  basin,  for  its  outlet  is  a  rapid  and  descending  stream, which 
after  making  a  succession  of  beautiful  waterfalls,  finds  its  way  into  Lake 
Champlain. 

Page  23. — Cleveland.  I  hope  to  be  pardoned  for  introducing  the 
name  of  a  collateral  relative,  who  served  in  the  old  French  war,  and 
afterwards  became  General  Cleveland,  and  bequeathed  his  name  to  a 
flourishing  city  in  Ohio,  which  he  himself  laid  out,  in  1796,  when  there 
was  not  a  single  white  inhabitant  in  that  part  of  the  Territory.  Forty 
years  after,  when  it  was  incorporated  as  a  city,  its  annual  exports  were 
valued  at  six  millions  of  dollars.  The  family  name  was  originally 
brought  to  America,  by  Moyses  Cleveland,  of  Ipswich,  in  the  county  of 
Suffolk,  England,  who  settled  in  the  Colony  of  Massachusetts,  in  the 
memorable  year  1648 — 0. 


NOTES.  169 

Page  23. — Monrce.  This  name,  with  those  of  Montcalm  and  Uncas, 
is  familiar  to  all  readers,  from  that  beautiful  romance  of  Mr.  Cooper, 
The  Last  of  the  Mohicans. 

Page  27. —  St.  Sacrament  for  aye.  As  a  similarity  may  be  observed 
between  this  passage  and  another  in  the  New  York  Review,  for  October, 
1830,  it  may  be  proper  to  state,  that  the  ballad  and  the  article  which 
contains  the  latter,  are  by  the  same  writer. 


II. 
ANTIOCH. 

The  principle,  asserted  in  this  ballad,  is  simply  the  primitive,  and 
Catholic  one,  of  the  Apostolical  Succession.  Those  v.ho  would  see  it 
discussed  are  recommended  to  the  celebrated  Letters  of  Law  (author 
of  the  Serious  Call)  to  Hoadley,  the  notorious  Bishop  of  Bangor;  or 
to  a  tract,  upon  the  Qualifications  for  administering  the  Sacraments,  by 
Leslie  ;  to  whose  famous  "Short  Method  with  a  Deist,"  it  is  appended, 
in  all  genuine  editions.  As  to  the  historical  fact  of  the  Succession,  tha 
useful  work  of  Mr.  Chapin.on  the  Primitive  Church,  may  be  consulted  ; 
and  also  the  little  book  of  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Arthur  Perceval. 

Page  30. — Himself  ordained.  So  also  Christ  glorified  not  himself 
to  be  made  an  High  priest.     Heb/eics,  V.  5. 

Page  31. — As  God  had  sent  the  Son.  As  my  Father  hath  sent  me, 
even  so  send  I  you.  And  when  He  had  said  this,  He  breathed  on  them, 
and  saith  unto  them,  Receiveye  the  Holy  Ghost,  &c.  St.  JohnXX,  21. 

All  power  is  given  unto  me  in  heaven  and  in  earth  :  Go  ye  therefore 
&c.     St.  Matthew,  XXV III.  18. 

Page  31. —  How  Korah,  8?c  Compare  Numbers  XVI.  with  //.  Peter 
II.  and  the  Epistle  of  St.  Jude. 

If  the  sin  of  Korah  is  one  which  can  be  committed  under  the  Christian 
dispensation,  it  follows  that  there  must  be  a  legitimate  priesthood, 
against  which  it  is  sinful  to  rebel ;  and,  by  a  comparison  of  Hebrew  and 
Christian  orders,  it  will  be  seen,  that  Korah  was  a  deacon,  who  despising 
his  bishop,  usurped  the  functions  of  a  priest.  This  interpretation  was 
forcibly  urged  by  the  Reverend  John  Wesley,  against  those  of  his  own 

15 


170  NOTES. 

Society,  who  undertook.,  against  his  entreaties,  to  administer  the  Sacra- 
ments ;  as  may  be  seen  in  his  sermon,  written  about  a  year  before  his 
decease,  and  published  in  the  Arminian  Magazine  in  1790. 

Page  32. — My  Saviour's  earnest  prayer.  That  they  all  may  be  one  ; 
as  thou  Father,  art  in  me,  and  I  in  thee,  that  they  also  may  be  one  in  us  . 
that  the  world  may  believe  that  thou  hast  sent  me.     St.  John  XVII.  21. 

It  is  observable  that  the  conversion  of  the  world  is  here  connected 
with  Christian  unity.  The  breach  of  unity  is,  by  inference,  connected 
with  a  scandal  to  the  cause  of  Truth.  So  then  St.  Peter,  speaking  of 
schismatics,  says — "  by  reason  of  whom  the  way  of  truth  shall  be  evil 
spoken  of."  (II.  Peter,  II.  1,  2.)  Again  he  says  that  these  schismatics 
"  Shall  privily  bring  in  damnable  heresies,  even  denying  the  Lord  that 
bought  them.''  The  unsettling  of  men's  minds,  and  final  apostasy,  was 
to  be  the  consequence,  then,  of  departure  from  the  apostolical  ministry. 
Let  history  be  the  comment.  In  Geneva,  where  the  presbyterian 
schism  was  instituted  by  Calvin,  we  find  that  the  whole  sect,  in  the  time 
of  Voltaire,  had  privily  lapsed  into  Socinian  Deism,  denying  the  Lord 
that  bought  them.  The  presbyterians  of  England,  have  so  universally 
lapsed  into  the  same  heresy,  that  "  the  Dissenters'  Chapels'  Bill"  has 
been  passed,  within  the  last  few  years,  to  allow  them  to  retain  the  proper- 
ty which  they  received  as  Calvinists.  The  Puritans  of  Massachusetts 
have  in  like  manner  lapsed  from  the  strictest  Calvinism,  into  the  coldest 
Socinianism,  as  is  sufficiently  notorious,  from  the  writings  of  their  most 
eminent  preachers.  In  all  these  instances  has  Scripture  been  fulfilled 
by  the  privy  bringing  in  of  the  heresy  which  denies  the  Lord  that  bought 
its.  And  let  earnest  minded  persons  consider,  whether  schisms,  thus 
universally  running  to  seed  in  the  most  heathenizing  of  heresies,  can 
possibly  have  been  the  planting  of  the  Lord. 

Page  32. — It  never  failed.  For  the  historical  fact,  see  the  works 
which  I  have  before  commended,  in  these  notes.  For  Scripture-proof, 
take  the  following  line  of  argument. 

It  is  evident  that  our  blessed  Lord  ordained  the  apostles.  It  is  evident 
that  they  ordained  others  ;  as  for  instance  Timotheus  and  Titus.  It  is 
evident  that  these  were  commanded  to  ordain  others  ;  and  that  thus  the 
succession  was  handed  into  the  second  century.  Now  can  it  be  possible 
it  was  to  stop  there,  when  our  Saviour  had  said  to  the  apostles,  "lo,  I 
grn  with  you  always,  wen  unto  the  end  of  the  world  !" 


NOTES.  171 

The  gift  of  apostleship  was  in  Timothy  by  the  putting  onof  St.  Paul's 
hands.  (II.  Tim.  I.  6.)  It  is  plain  that  the  same  gift,  or  a  share  in  it, 
was  to  be  imparted  to  others  in  the  same  way,  by  Timothy  ;  who  is  not 
only  told  what  kind  of  persons  to  ordain,  but  cautioned  to  "  lay  hands 
suddenly  on  no  man."  (I.  Tim.  V.  20.)  Where  would  be  the  impor- 
tance of  this  caution,  if  ivilhout  the  laying  on  of  his  hands,  any  one,  in 
Ephesus,  might  have  been  a  valid  minister  of  Christ  ! 

The  argument,  in  the  case  of  Titus,  Bishop  of  Crete,  is  equally  con- 
clusive. 

To  this,  add  the  unanimous  testimony  of  the  primitive  age  ;  and  even 
the  consent  of  the  reformed,  until  many  of  them  became  a  party  to  their 
own  opinion,  and  denied  the  Apostolical  Succession  from  personal 
feeling, 


lit. 
DREAMLAND. 

This  little  ballad  is  intended  as  a  playful  reproof  of  those  who,  in 
many  places,  misrepresent  the  Church,  by  neglecting  the  decorum  and 
decency  which  her  standards  require.  It  is  the  misfortune  of  the 
American  Church,  to  have  many  nominal  members,  who  bring  disgrace 
upon  her,  by  cold  formality  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  slovenly  disregard 
of  her  injunctions  on  the  other. 

Page  35. — Hadflowers,  and  wreaths.  This  practice,  once  of  ordinary 
occurrence,  in  England,  is  thus  explained  by  that  true-hearted  Church- 
man, John  Evelyn,  in  his  Sylva.  "  We  adorn  their  graves  with  flowers, 
and  redolent  plants,  just  emblems  of  the  life  of  man,  which  has  been 
compared  in  Holy  Scriptures,  to  those  fading  beauties,  whose  roots  be- 
ing buried  in  dishonour,  rise  again,  in  glory." 

Page  37. — Do  lowly  bow.  The  humble  bowing  of  the  head,  at  the 
adorable  and  saving  name  of  Jesus,  is  intended  as  a  confession  of  the 
glorious  doctrine  of  St.  Paul,  in  Philippians,  II.  10.  It  is  the  design  of 
this  verse,  simply,  to  censure  the  irreverent  foppery,  with  which  somt 
reduce  this  edifying  act  of  faith  to  a  mere  formality. 

Page  37.—  Clothe  their  heads.  See  I.  Corinthians,  XL  6,  10.  The 
use  of  veils,  at  confirmation,  in  obedience  to  the  spirit  of  this  passage.. 


172  NOTES. 

is  still  common  in  many  places.  Afention  to  such  matters  is,  of  course, 
disapproved  by  the  censorius  ;  but  as  it  was  the  wisdom  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  to  write  such  a  chapter  as  the  eleventh  of  First  Corinthians,  it 
is  the  wisdom  of  faith,  to  obey  its  letter,  and  carry  its  spirit  into  every- 
thing of  the  sair.e  kind. 

Page  38. — Angel  lullabies.  The  consoling  text — "  I  heard  a  voice 
from  heaven,  &c,"  is  sometimes  chaunted,  at  the  grave,  according  to 
the  rubric;  and  may  be  said,  in  poetry,  to  make  that  slumber  good, 
which  is  thus  hallowed  and  blessed. 


IV. 
CAROL. 
The  decoration  of  Churches  and  Churchyards,  with  evergreens  and 
flowers  ;  and  such  customs  as  those  of  "  the  Rushbearing,"  and  "  Posy 
Sunday,"  which  are  still  extant,  in  England  ;  though  wholly  voluntary , 
and  not  ordained  by  the  Church,  are  with  unprejudiced  persons,  a 
beautiful  illustration  of  the  faculty,  by  which  she  invests  every  good 
gift  of  God,  with  sacted  associations. 

The  holy  Gecrge  Herbert  speaks,  as  follows,  in  his  Country  Parson-. 
"  The  Country  Parson  is  a  lover  of  old  customs,  if  they  be  good  and 
harmless,  and  the  rather  because  country  people  are  much  addicted  to 
them,  so  that  to  favour  them  therein  is  to  win  their  hearts,  and  to  oppose 
them  therein  is  to  deject  them.  If  there  be  any  ill  in  the  custom,  which 
may  be  severed  from  the  good,  he  paies  the  apple,  and  gives  them  the 
clean  to  feed  on."  Again  ;  "  The  country  parson  takes  order  that  the 
Church  be  swept  and  kept  clean,  ....  and  at  great  festivals  strewed,  and 
stuck  with  boughs,  and  perfumed  with  incense." 

80  Wordsworth,  in  his  Ecclesiastical  Sketches,  describes  a  day 
among  the  parishes  of  Westmoreland,  when  the  village  children  are 
accustomed  to  come  forth 

"  by  rustic  music  led, 

Through  the  Btill  churchyard   each  with  garland  gay. 
That  carried,  sceptre-like,  o'er-tops  the  head 
Of  the  proud  bsarer." 


NOTES.  173 

It  is  by  such  spontaneous  and  instinctive  tributes  ;  precisely  such  in 
principle,  as  were  ordained,  in  the  Old  Testament,  and  accepted  in  the 
new  ;  fXehemiak,  VIII.  15  ;  St.  Matthew  XXI.  8  ;;  that  the  beautiful 
gifts  of  God  are  severed  from  vain  and  worldly  uses,  and  made  to  min- 
ister o  a  sanctified  taste,  in  Christians  of  full  years  :  while,  for  children, 
they  perform  a  useful  part,  in  making  the  associations  of  their  religion- 
attractive  and  lovely. 

But  while  He,  who  bade  us  to  "consider  the  lilies,"  will  doubtless 
approve  of  our  employing  their  glorious  clothing,  io  show  our  delight  in 
that  greater  Solomon  who  created  them,  we  must  reflect  that  we  live 
in  a  gainsaying  and  censorious  time,  and  that  it  is  far  hetter  that  we 
should  deprive  ourselves  of  an  innocent  gratification,  than  minister  an 
occasion  of  stumbling  to  weak  brethren.  And  though  there  are  those 
who  would  complain  of  Gabriel's  censer,  and  reform  the  very  ritual  of 
Heaven  ;  we  must  remember  that  it  is  a  duty  not  to  let  our  good  be  evil 
spoken  of :  and  in  deference  to  this  injunction,  I  would  be  far  from  ad- 
vising the  restoration  of  any  merely  voluntary  practice,  however  inno- 
cent, in  places  where  the  grievous  sins  of  dissension  and  evil-speaking 
would  be  the  only  fruits. 


V. 

LAMENT. 

If  an  humble  member  of  the  Church  may  make  a  suggestion  .-  ought 
not  our  Lenten  Season  to  be  kept  with  some  reference  to  the  divided 
state  of  Christendom  ?  In  our  own  land,  we  find  eminently  lovely 
characters,  ofien,  arrayed  against  what  we  know  is  the  Church — the 
body  of  our  blessed  Lord  and  Saviour,  Christ.  The  circumstances  of 
this  country's  original  settlement  were  such,  as  to  favour  and  strengthen 
a  growth  of  ignorance  on  this  subject,  heretofore  unparalleled  in  the 
Christian  world  ;  and  through  influences  of  education  and  accidental 
prejudice,  there  are  hundreds  of  pious  and  gentle  Spirits  wandering  from 
their  true  mother;  and  knowing  nothing  of  her.  For  such,  we  have  only 
one  resource,  but  that  is  the  best — even  prayer.  The  most  clear  and 
convincing  argument  fails  when  directed  against  their  seven-fold  armour 

15* 


174  NOTES. 

of  pro-judgment  or  indifference.  But  prayer  may  enlist  Him  in  their 
behalf,  who  pierceth  the  joints  of  the  harness.  At  least,  it  will  help 
ourselves:  for,  to  be  true  Catholic  Christians  in  our  land  and  day, 
we  need  not  only  the  boldness  of  Paul,  and  the  ardour  of  Peter,  but 
more  ihan  all,  the  meekness  and  long-suffering  of  our  blessed  Lord 
himself.  If  we  were  partisans,  we  might  be  angry  at  unwarrantable 
opposition  :  if  we  were  striving  for  earthly  things,  we  might  abandon  to 
the  chilly  arms  of  their  desolate  systems,  those  who  answer  us  with 
railing  accusation.  But  we  are  their  servants  and  strive  for  their  benefit 
—not  for  our  own.  We  would  fain  see  all  Christians  blest  with  us,  in 
the  Catholic  fold  of  Christ;  and  when  was  there  ever  advice  so  appro- 
priate as  that  of  an  old  apostle,  to  a  primitive  bishop  ! — "And  the  servant 
of  God  must  not  strive  ;  but  be  gentle  unto  all  men  ;  apt  to  teach  ;  pa- 
tient; in  meekness  instructing  those  that  oppose  themselves;  if  God 
perad venture  will  give  them  repentance,  to  the  acknowledging  of  the 
Truth." 


VI. 
ENGLAND. 

In  thrs  ballad,  such  feelings  towards  the  mother-country,  are  expressed, 
as  I  am  happy  to  believe,  not  personal  to  myself,  but  common  to  nearly 
all  educated  and  liberal-minded  Americans. 

Page  54. — Balliol  men.  Perhaps  I  should  rather  have  apostrophised 
the  Men  of  Belial,  than  the  respectable  society  named  in  the  text ;  but  a 
college  that  once  had  such  a  man  as  S^uthey,  for  a  member,  can  afford  to 
bear  a  little  responsibility  for  his  juvenile  Jacobinism.  The  apostrophe 
was  suggested  by  his  mean  little  poem  on  "the  Chapel  Bell,"  written  in 
1793.  The  young  pintisocrat  seems  to  have  had  a  peculiar  spite 
against  that  bell ;  as  another  of  his  poems  begins  with  the  hemistich 
"  Toll  on,  toll  on,  old  bell! 

Page  54 — Quiet  Corpus.  I  have  an  impression  that  Corpus  must  be 
a  quiet  place  for  a  moderate  reading  man,  not  over  studious,  and  fond 
of  conversation.  What  can  be  got  from  books  and  pictures  gives  an 
American  this  impression;  but  I  know  nothing  about  it,  and  am  very 
likely  wide  of  the  mark. 


NOTES.  175 


VII. 

CHRONICLES. 

This  ballad  is  a  history  of  the  apostolic  commission  in  England,  from 
the  first  century,  to  the  Restoration. 

Page  60. — Altars  all  as  spotless.  This  refers  to  the  early  British 
Church,  in  its  original  independence,  purity  and  poverty;  before  the 
conversion  of  the  Saxons,  by  St.  Augustine,  A.  D.  596. 

Page  61. — Oh, too!  the  hour.  Not  the  hour  of  Augustine's  mission, 
and  Patriarchate  ;  for  he  was  sent  to  convert  the  Saxons,  by  the  good 
and  great  Gregory,  who  abhored  the  idea  of  a  supremacy  ;  but  the  hour 
when  the  pall  was  imposed,  with  an  oath  of  subjection,  in  the  days  of 
William  Rufus,  against  every  principle  of  apostolical  precedent,  and 
eanon  law. 

Page  62. —  To  chase  aio ay  the  tyrant.  The  English  reformation  was 
no  revolution.  It  merely  threw  off  the  usurped  supremacy  of  the 
bishop  of  Rome,  and  restored  the  Church,  to  her  primitive  purity,  and 
independence;  rejecting  whatever  was  papal,  but  carefully  retaining 
all  that  was  apostolical. 

Thus  it  differed  essentially  from  the  Continental  Reformation  ;  with 
which  we  have  no  concern,  except  to  deplore  it,  as  a  miserable  failure. 
It  is  only  an  artifice  of  papists  to  confound  the  Anglican  reformation, 
with  the  Lutheran  schism;  for  while  they  are  powerless  against  the 
former,  they  are  mighty  in  exposing  the  latter,  and  it  is  easier  to  make 
the  ignorant  believe  that  the  two  are  one  and  the  same  thing,  than  it  is 
to  face  the  direct  question — in  what  essential  point  does  the  Anglican 
Church  now  differ  from  the  Church  of  the  Apostolic  age. 

It  is  another  artifice  of  the  papists  to  discuss  the  character  of  Henry 
VIII,  instead  of  shewing  in  what  particular  the  Anglican  Church  de- 
parted from  Catholic  doctrine  and  discipline,  during  the  reign  of  that 
tyrant.  As  for  Henry,  it  may  be  conceded  that  he  was  nearly  as  bad 
as  some  of  the  Popes;  and  that  the  vices  of  both,  paved  the  way  for 
the  Church's  iestoration  to  primitive  purity.  So  did  the  adultery  of 
Ahasuerus  save  ihe  Hebrew  Church  from  Haman  ;  and  the  Church  of 
England  has  as  much  to  do  with  the  character  of  Esther,  as  with  that 


176  NOTES. 

of  Anne  Boleyn.  A  political  quarrel,  indeed,  gave  opportunity  for  the 
restoration  of  the  English  Patriarchate,  to  its  original  independence  ; 
but  its  reformers  were  its  own  bishops  ;  and  like  the  primitive  apostles, 
they  sealed  their  work  with  their  blood. 

Page  63. — A  nation  shouteth  round.  For  the  first  twelve  years  of 
Elizabeth,  the  papists  themselves,  frequented  the  sacraments  and  min- 
istry of  the  ancient  Church  of  England  ;  showing  that  in  nothing  had 
its  identity  been  lost,  or  its  Catholicity  impaired,  even  in  their  estima- 
tion. During  that  period  two  popes  had  offered  to  receive  and  approve 
the  Common  Prayer,  if  the  Q,ueen  would  but  consent  to  the  papal  su- 
premacy— so  that,  even  in  their  judgment,  the  church  had  forfeited  noth- 
ing essential  to  Catholicity,  by  translating  and  reforming  her  worship. 
Thus,  till  1569,  when  Pius  V.  forced  those  Englishmen  who  were  in 
favor  of  his  supremacy,  to  become  recusants,  there  was  in  England,  one 
pure  and  undivided  Church,  which,  but  for  the  Romish  and  Puritan 
schisms,  which  soon  followed,  would  have  become  the  joy  of  the  whole 
earth,  for  beauty  and  primitive  completeness.  The  recusancy  of  1569 
was  the  origin  of  the  Papal  sect  in  England,  which  has  no  thread  of 
connection,  with  the  ancient  Church  of  England  ;  and  owes  its  existence, 
as  well  as  its  creed,  to  the  novelties  of  the  pseudo-council  of  Trent. 

Page  63. — Children  of  her  bosom.  Having  successfully,  but  with 
great  tribulation  survived  the  persecutions  of  Rome,  the  poor  Church  of 
England  was  next  called  to  suffer  for  the  testimony  of  God's  truth,  at 
the  hands  of  rebellious  sons.  It  is  impossible  for  one,  with  any  thing 
that  is  generous  in  his  bosom,  to  behold  her,  in  this  new  emergency, 
without  veneration  and  awe  ;  whether  she  be  considered  in  her  individ- 
ual confessors,  harrassed  by  a  popular  outbreak,  which  confounded  all 
ranks  in  ruin,  and  overwhelmed  alike  the  primate,  the  premier,  and  the 
piince ;  or  whether  she  be  regarded  as  a  venerable  mother,  sitting  in 
her  own  house  in  sackcloth,  and  baring  her  breast  to  the  blows  of  the 
children  of  her  bowels. 

Page  63. — A  prince's  fall.  Under  the  first  Stuart,  the  Church  of 
England  had  begun  to  be  understood,  by  the  States  of  the  Continent; 
and  she  was  fast  securing  the  admiration,  and  imitation  of  foreign  church- 
es, when  the  violence  of  the  Puritans  plunged  both  church  and  state, 
into  abject  misery  and  eontempt.  James  left  to  his  son  a  legacy  of  mis- 
chief; but  both  the  filial  and  the  personal  piety  of  Charles  disqualified 


17' 


him  for  a  true  appreciation  of  his  difficulties.  The  abuses  of  the  state 
were  not  of  his  making  :  those  of  the  church,  he  was  zealous  tu  reform, 
by  the  primitive  pattern.  He  was  fast  gathering  around  him  that  noble 
company  of  divines  who  now  illustrate  the  misfortunes,  as  he  designed 
that  they  should  the  glories  of  his  reign.  "With  such  a  generation  of 
bishops,  it  is  a  painfully  pleasing  thing  to  fancy,  what  the  Church  of 
England  would  have  been  under  a  pious  and  enlightened  prince,  who 
loved  letters,  encouraged  the  arts,  delighted  in  men  of  learning  was  a 
pattern  of  domestic  virtue,  and  lacked  nothing  but  a  considerate  and 
well-affected  people,  to  exhibit  to  the  world  the  model  of  Empire, — a 
kingdom  which  was  but  a  family.  But  England  was  cursed  with  Pyms, 
and  Cromwells  ;  and  became  the  frantic  populace,  that  requiried  a  mas- 
ter instead  of  a  father:  and  thus  was  lost  the  golden  opportunity.  But, 
Charles  the  First  remains,  the  only  king  of  England,  since  the  accession 
of  his  family,  for  whose  character  it  is  possible  to  feel  an  enthusiasm, 
and  for  whose  faults  there  exists  the  plenary  apology,  that  they  were  the 
results,  and  not  the  causes,  of  a  popular  spirit  of  rebellion. 

Page  64.—  The  blessed  Martyrs.  As  the  martyrs,  of  the  Marian 
times,  were  the  reformers  of  the  church  ;  so  the  murderers  of  Laud  and 
King  Charles,  and  the  barbarous  persecutors  of  such  men  as  Jeremy 
Taylor,  were  the  authors  of  Dissent.  Suppose  then,  the  court  was  cor- 
rupt :  so  it  was  in  the  days  of  Nero,  when  the  Spirit  of  God  wrote 
the  commandment,  "  Honour  the  king."  Or  suppose  some  of  the  clergy 
were  depraved  :  so  was  it,  when  our  Saviour  said  "  The  Scribes  and 
Pharisees  sit  in  Moses' seat;  all  therefore,  whatsoever  they  bid  you  ob- 
serve, that  observe  and  do."  Or  suppose  Laud  had  superstitions — so 
had  Cotton  Mather.  Or  suppose  he  cropped  Prynue's  ears  ;  so  did  St- 
Peter  the  ear  of  Malchus  ;  and  Coiton  Mather  burned  witches,  and  tor- 
tured Quakers.  Yet  Laud  is  a  papist,  forsooth,  because  he  kept  vigils 
and  fasts;  while  the  fact  that  Cotton  Mather  did  the  same,  is  always 
adduced  to  show  that  in  spite  of  infirmities  he  was  a  saint.  But  this  is 
only  reiort  against  cavil:  and  good  only  to  disarm  prejudice.  Let  the 
candid  enquirer  read  Dr.  Southey's  Book  of  the  Church,  from  begin- 
ning to  end  ;  and  compare  it  with  such  bo  >ks  as  Le  Baj'  Life  of  Laud  , 
Sir  Thomas  Herbert's  Two  last  yearsof  C.iarles,  and  Dr.  Wordsworth's 
Theophilus  Anglicanus. 

Page  65. —  The  noble  in  the  cottage.     Sir  Walter  Scott  has  beautifully 


178  NOTES. 

introduced  this  fact,  into  his  fine  fiction,  the  story  of  Woodstock;  where 
Alice  Lee,  and  Dr.  Rochecliffe  at  their  devotions,  are  so  beautifully 
pourtrayed.     Woodstock,  Vol.  i.  p.  174.    Philadelphia. 

Page  65.—  Their  Psalter.  See  Psalm  lxxiv.  5—10,  20—24.  Hearing 
it  read,  one  Sunday,  during  divine  service,  at  St.  Mark's  in  the-Bowery, 
suggested  these  verses. 

Page  67. — Daughter.  Every  American  bishop,  priest,  and  deacon, 
derives  his  ordination  from  theapostles,  through  the  Church  of  England. 
See  Perceval  on  the  Apostolic  Succession. 

Bishops  White  and  Madison,  from  whom,  (with  Bp.  Provoost)  all  our 
clergy  have  descended,  were  consecrated  at  Lambeth,  Feb.  4,  1787  ; 
and  landed  in  the  New- World,  on  Easter-day  succeeding,  lo  begin  a 
succession  which  already  has  its  representatives  at  the  antipodes. 


VIII, 

SCOTLAND; 

The  melancholy  religious  condition  of  Scotland,  at  the  present  time., 
is  the  best  comment  on  the  injury  which  was  done  to  that  kingdom,  by 
the  destruction  of  her  ancient  establishment,  under  the  dull  usurper  of 
Orange.  It  is  to  me  a  strange  thing,  that  the  Scottish  writers,  who  have 
lately  shed  such  glory  upon  their  country,  and  many  of  whom  have  been 
attached  to  the  Church  of  England,  should  have  bad  so  little  to  say,  of 
this  great  national  outrage.  I  know  there  is  an  impression,  that  the 
establishment  of  the  Kirk  was  the  unanimous  voice  of  the  Scottish  people. 
But  such  is  not  the  case  ;  as  is  well  known  to  those  who  have  looked  in- 
to the  matter.  In  a  collection  of  letters  on  the  Scottish  Church,  printed 
in  London  in  1690  ;  says  Mr.  Sage,  afterwards  a  Scottish  bishop,  "  I  can 
affirm  with  a  well-grounded  assurance,  that  if  by  the  people  you  mean 
the  Commonalty  ....  the  third  man,  throughout  the  whole  kingdom,  is 
not  presbyterian  :  and  if,  by  the  people,  you  mean  those  who  are  persons 
of  quality  and  education  ....  I  dare  boldly  say  not  the  thirteenth."  And 
even,  at  the  present  day — if  I  may  trust  an  article  in  Blackwood's,  at- 
tributed to  Professor  Wilson — the  following  is  a  just  account  of  things. 
"The  greater  part  of  the   Scotch  aristocracy  and  landed  men  (the  in- 


NOTES.  179 

finitely  greater  part  of  them)  are  not  members  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland 
at  all.  They  are,  as  all  their  forefathers  were,  episcopalians.  They 
yield,  as  their  ancestors  did,  to  the  voice  of  the  majority  of  the  gross 
population."     No.  XX.  Nodes  Ambrosiance. 

Page  73. —  Shall  flout  litem.  For  a  very  graphic  description  of  the 
poor  appearance  which  the  Kirk  makes  in  Glasgow  Cathedral,  and  some 
tine  remarks  thereon,  see  '.'Peter's  Letters,"  (No.  Ixvii.)  by  Lockhart. 

Page  73.— And  shame  the  Church,  fyc.  The  American  Church  owes 
its  episcopate  to  the  persecuted  and  almost  extinguished  Church  of  Scot- 
land ;  which  not  only  gave  to  America  her  first  bishop,  in  the  person  of 
Seabury,  but  by  so  doing,  was  the  means  of  securing  the  Lambeth  con- 
secrations, with  which  that  from  Scotland  was  united.  (See  Bp.  Wilber- 
force's  American  Church,  page  194.)  Thus  she  may  be  said  to  have  put 
her  more  flourishing  sister  to  shame. 

Page  74. —  Thefish-tcife's  voice.  The  story  of  Jenny  Geddes,  and  her 
exploit  in  the  High  Church  of  St.  Giles,  Edinburgh,  (July  23d,  1637,) 
is  probably  familiar  to  my  reader  ;  but  may  be  found  in  the  Tales  of 
a  Grandfather,  Second  Series,  i.  96.    Philadelphia. 

Page  75. — Braes  of  Ross.  The  old  See  of  Ross,  has  once  more  a 
bishop. 

Page  75. —  The  Moray  shepherd.  No  Scottish  bishop  is  more  ven- 
erated, in  America,  than  the  late  good  bishop  of  Moray,  (Dr.  Jolly)  who 
should  have  been  buried  in  Elgin  Cathedral,  where  many  of  his  prede" 
cessorslie  entombed. 

Page  75. — Along  the  Tay.  The  founding  of  Trinity  College,  at  Perth, 
is  hailed  by  the  friends  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  as  an  earnest  of  bet- 
ter days  at  hand. 

Page  76. — Scotland's  altar  service.  The  Scotch  Liturgy,  is  not  only 
more  perfect  and  primitive  than  the  Latin  Missal,  but  is  also  far  less  in 
accordance  with  the  Romish  doctrine,  than  the  English  Liturgy,  which, 
(as  the  papists  teach,)regards  the  Consecraiion  as  concluded  by  a  repetition 
of  the  words  of  Institution,  without  the  Invocation  of  the  Spirit.  In 
America,  where  the  Scottish  Liturgy  has  been  followed,  without  a  whisper 
of  disapprobation,  it  is  earnestly  hoped  that  the  Scottish  Church  will 
never  surrender  its  distinctive  glory,  for  any  suggestions  of  expediency, 
or  threats  of  vengeance,  from  parties  whose  influence  is  as  ephemeral  as 
their  opinions  are  ignorant  and  contracted. 


180  NOTES. 


IX. 

SEABURY'S  MITRE. 

Learning  that  the  mitre,  worn  by  bishop  Seabury  in  his  episcopal  min- 
istrations, was  yet  in  existence.  I  had  the  curiosity  to  obtain  it.  through 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Seabury,  of  New  York,  and  placed  it  in  the  Library  of 
Trinity  College,  with  an  appropriate  Latin  inscription.  An  aged  pres- 
byter, the  Rev.  Isaac  Jones,  of  Litchfield,  came  into  the  Library,  on 
commencement-day,  1847,  and  betraying  some  emotion  at  the  sight,  I  said 
to  him,  "you  probably  have  seen  that  mitre  on  Seabury's  head."  He 
answered — "yes,  Sir,  in  1785,  at  the  first  ordination  in  this  country,  I 
saw  him,  wearing  his  scarlet  hood,  and  that  mitre  ;  and  though  I  was  then 
a  dissenter,  his  stately  figure  and  solemn  manner  impressed  me  very 
much.     He  was  a  remarkable  looking  man." 

Page  78. —  Crown  of  thorn.  The  mitre  is  of  black  satin,  adorned  with 
gold-thread  needlework.  The  Cross  is  embroidered  on  the  front;  and 
on  the  reverse,  a  truly  significant  emblem,  the  crown  of  thorns. 

Page  78. — Her  old  Regalia.  The  discovery  of  the  ancient  Regalia 
of  Scotland  in  1817,  was  the  subject  of  great  national  enthusiasm:  and 
the  royal  jewels  are  now  preserved,  in  the  castle  of  Edinburgh,  as 
symbols  of  the  independence  of  the  kingdom. 


X. 

RUSTIC  CHURCHES. 

The  folly  of  ambitious  architectural  attempts  in  brick  and  mortar,  in 
our  rural  parishes,  has  reigned  too  widely,  and  involved  to  much  waste, 
to  be  considered  a  trifling  evil.  The  parish-church  described  in  the 
text  was  designed  on  the  principle  of  realiiy :  and  was  intended  to  show 
that  propriety  and  even  taste  may  be  gratified,  with  just  such  resources 
as  any  country -village  possesses  in  itself.  Although  making  no  preten- 
sion to  accuracy  of  detail,  it  is  interesting,  therefore,  as  a  legitmate  rural 
church,  the   natural  result  of  Catholic  principles  of  architecture,  con- 


NOTES.  181 

tending  with  want  of  means,  and  modified  by  the  peculiarities  of  Amer- 
ican climate  and  material. 

Page  81. —  That  timber  thing.  The  old  meeting-house  of  New  Eng- 
land, is  a  genuine  symbol  of  the  spirit  that  reared  it;  and  remains  as 
a  witness  against  prelacy  and  the  consecration  of  churches, handed  down 
from  the  Puritans.  Although  designed  for  what  are  called  town-meet- 
ings, as  well  as  for  spiritual  uses,  there  is  therefore  a  kind  of  respecta- 
bility about  it,  as  being  the  honest  exponent  of  its  origin:  a  re- 
spectability, which  vanishes  when  the  modern  meeting-house,  with  its 
tin-roof  and  Grecian  pillars  is  substituted  ;  and  which  is  superseded  by 
vulgar  pretension,  when,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  its  place  is  supplied 
by  a  Gothic  structure,  with  all  the  external  symbols  of  Liturgy  and 
Episcopacy. 

Page  81. — Pine-icood  parody.  Instead  of  removing  the  old  meeting- 
house, it  is  often  subjected  to  the  operation  of  modernizing ;  which  con- 
sists in  giving  it  a  row  of  Doric  columns  and  a  pediment,  in  front.  The 
old  steeple  is  also  taken  away,  and  a  spruce  cupola  substituted.  With 
such  a  heavy  frontispiece,  the  old  house,  in  the  rear,  accords  very  ill.  A 
profile  view  exhibits  a  foreground  of  gawky  columns,  looking  like  the 
legs  of  a  shag-dog,  while  the  rear  reminds  us  of  the  same  dog  fantasti- 
cally shaven  in  the  hinder  parts,  as  is  the  fashion  with  fanciers. 

Page  32. — St.  Joseph's  thorn.  The  celebrated  Glastonbury  thorn, 
which  blooms  at  Christmas,  is  said  to  have  been  the  staff  of  St.  Joseph  of 
Arimathea,  when  he  came  into  England  as  a  missionary,  A.  D.  64.  In 
its  immediate  vicinity  stood  the  earliest  British  Church,  described  by 
old  Fuller  as  follows  : 

"  It  had  in  length  sixty -feet,  and  twenty-six  in  breadth,  made  of  rods, 
wattled  or  interwoven.  .  .  .  Let  not  stately  modern  churches  dis- 
dain to  stoop,  with  their  highest  steeples,  reverently  doing  homage  to  this 
poor  structure  as  their  first  platform  and  precedent.  And  let  their 
chequered  pavements  no  more  disdain  this  oratory's  plain  floor,  than 
its  thatched  covering  doth  envy  their  leaden  roofs."  Eccles.  Hist.  Vol. 
i.p.  14.     London,  1837. 


16 


182  NOTES. 


XI. 
CHURCHYARDS. 


The  parish  of  St.  George's,  Hempstead,  is  the  oldest  in  the  state  Of 
New  York ;  and  its  churchyard,  though  not  a  model  cemetery,  is  dear  to 
me  as  containing  the  remains  of  my  kinsman  Edward  Henry  Hyde, 
sometime  a  member  of  the  University  of  New  York,  and  at  the  time  of 
his  death,  intended  for  Holy  Orders.  This  ballad  was  suggested  by  a 
moonlight  visit  to  his  grave,  in  1840. 


XII. 
TRINITY,  OLD  CHURCH. 

The  removal  of  the  old  Trinity  church,  was  a  sad  sight  to  many  New 
Yorkers  ;  notwithstanding  the  proposed  splendors  of  the  new  church. 
I  had  often  worshipped  in  it,  in  my  boyhood  ;  and  just  as  its  destruction 
was  beginning,  had  a  final  opportunity  of  paying  my  vows  there  on  my 
twenty-first  anniversary,  Friday,  May  10.  1839. 

Page  89.— Effigy.  The  statue  of  Bishop  Hobart,  now  in  the  sacristy 
of  the  new  church,  occupied  the  place  of  an  altar  piece  in  the  old  church. 


XIII. 
TRINITY,  NEW  CHURCH. 
Thi3  Church  was  consecrated  on  Ascension-day,  1846,  when  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  being  present  at  the  solemnities. 

Page  94.— Mould  of  doctrine.  The  original  Greek  of  Romans  vi.  17, 
(as  criticised  by  a  venerated  kinsman,  in  familiar  conversation,)  suggest- 
ed  this  expression,  which  is  a  literal  translation  of  what  our  English 
version  renders— /<?rm  of  doctrine.  The  whole  text  is  sadly  distorted, 
in  the  authorized  translation. 


NOTES.  183 


XIV. 
ORATORIES. 

The  custom  here  commended  has  had  its  examples  among  the  best  of 
men  of  widely  differing  piety;  and  I  would  instance  Herbert,  Hooker, 
and  Henry  Venn.  Even  in  the  dullest  days  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
it  is  gratifying  to  find  Dr.  Johnson  recommending  it,  on  one  occasion,  to 
his  friend  Boswell.     See  Life  of  Johnson,  i.  397.     Dublin. 

Page  101. —  The  Psalmist's  Cedars.    See  Psalm  xcii,  11,  12. 


XV. 

LITTLE  WOODMERE. 

Had  the  Church,  as  it  is  in  the  English  Prayer-book,  been  allowed  its 
quiet  and  natural  development,  during  the  seventeenth  century,  it  would 
have  been  found  in  every  English  village,  as  I  have  pourtrayed  it  in 
this  ballad.  Such,  Herbert  and  Ferrar  and  Hooker  would  have  had 
it;  and  in  our  own  days,  bishop  Heber. 

Page  104. —  When  the  Litany,  8?c.  "It  was  a  custom,  in  several 
churches,  to  toll  a  bell,  whilst  the  Litany  was  reading,  to  give  notice  to 
the  people  that  the  Communion  Service  was  coming  on."  Wheatley, 
page  174.     Boston. 

Page  105. — On  the  North.  It  was  the  custom  of  our  ancestors  to 
bury  outcasts  and  criminals,  on  the  shady  side  of  the  Church. 


XVI. 

DESOLATIONS. 

In  the  Diocese  of  Virginia,  such  ruins  as  are  here  described,  unhap- 
pily abound. 


184  NOTES. 


XVII. 

CHELSEA. 

The  General  Theological  Seminary  of  the  American  Church  is  situa- 
ted in  that  quarter  of  New  York,  known  as  Chelsea. 

Page  113. —  When  old  Canute.  See  the  story  in  Sharon  Turner's  An- 
glo-Saxons, ii.  348.  Philadelphia.  Canute  himself  composed  a  ballad 
upon  the  occasion,  of  which  a  fragment  remains. 

"  Merry  sang  the  monks  in  Ely, 
When  Canute  the  king  was  sailing  by  ; 
Row,  ye  knights,  near  the  land, 
And  let  us  hear  the  monks'  song." 

Such  is  Turner's  translation.  Wordsworth  has  a  beautiful  sonnet  oa 
this  incident. 


XVIII. 
VIGILS. 

The  Latin  lines  at  the  end  of  every  stanza,  are  the  titles  of  anthem? 
or  chants,  appropriate  to  the  hours. 

Page  117. — Adeste  Fideles.     Hither  ye  faithful. 

Page  117. —  Veni  Creator.    Come  Holy  Ghost  :  as  in  the  Ordinal. 

Page  118. — Jubilate  Deo.     The  hundredth  Psalm. 

Page  118. — Cum  Angeles.    With  Angels,  Sec.  t  as  in  the  Eucharist. 

Page  118. — Nisi  Dominus.     Unless  the  Lord  keep  the  city,  the  watch, 
man  waketh  but  in  vain.     Psalm  exxvii. 

Page  118. — De  Profundus.     Psalm  exxx. 

Page  119. — Kyrie  Eleison.     Lord  have  mercy  upon  us  :  as  in  the 
Litany. 

Page  119. — Miserere.     Psalm  lvii. 

Page  119. — Dies  Iroe.     The  day  of  wrath. 

Page  119. — Sursuvi  Corda.     Lift  up  your  hearts,  as  in  the  Eucharist. 


NOTES.  185 

Page  120.— Fili  David.     Oh !  Son  of  David  :  as  in  the  Litany. 
Page  120. —  Veni  Jesu.     Come  Lord  Jesus. 

Page  120. — Nunc  Dimittis.    Now  Lord,  lettest  thou  thy  servant  de- 
part in  peace.     The  songof  Simeon,  St.  Luke  ii.  29. 


XIX. 

THE    CURFEW. 

The  anecdote  of  William  I.,  which  is  employed  in  this  ballad,  will  be 
found  in  nearly  all  English  histories.  The  Curfew  bell,  an  institution 
of  that  monarch,  is  generally  understood. 

Page  124.— New -England  village.  So  late  as  the  beginning  of  the 
present  century,  the  nine-o'clock-bell  is  said  to  have  been  generally 
obeyed  in  New  England,  by  the  breaking  up  of  company,  and  the  re- 
tiring of  families. 


XX. 

NASHOTAH. 

At  Nashotah,  in  Wiskonsan,  a  thousand  miles  from  the  Atlantic  sea- 
board, is  a  religious  establishment  of  unmarried  missionaries,  who  live 
and  labour  in  the  spirit  of  the  primitive  day.  All  that  i3  said  of  it,  and 
them,  in  this  ballad  is  literally  true. 

The  founders  of  this  mission  were,  in  1840,  my  fellow-students  at 
Chelsea,  and  Wiskonsan  was  then  a  wilderness.  It  is  now  a  Christian 
diocese,  and  has  a  bishop  and  twenty  one  clergy  ;  the  blessed  results,  in 
a  great  degree,  of  the  self-denying  labours  of  the  brethren  of  Nashotah. 

Page  132. —  The  Norway  rover.  Wiskonsan  is  rapidly  filling  up  with 
the  better  class  of  emigrants  from  Europe  ;  and  the  itinerant  brothers  of 
Nashotah  have  under  their  care  settlements  of  Norwegians,  Swedes, 
Irish,  Welsh,  English,  and  Oneida  Indians.  They  have  also  baptized 
several  Jews. 

Page  132. —  The  sad  Oneida.  Several  Oneida  Indians  are  training. 
16* 


186  NOTES. 

for  Holy  Orders,  at  Nashotah  :  p.  ;d  at  the  first  Diocesan  council  of  Wis- 
konsan,  in  1847,  there  were  present  several  Oneidas,  as  lay  delegates. 
They  had  walked  two  hundred  miles  to  be  present,  and  on  the  last  day, 
had  accomplished  forty  five  miles.  One  of  them  spoke  in  debate; 
probably  for  the  first  time  (says  my  friend  the  Rev.  Dr.  Kip,)  that  an 
American  Indian  has  been  heard  in  the  councils  of  the  Church. 


XXI. 

ST.  SILVAN'S  BELL. 
When  this  ballad  was  written,  it  was  a  mere  fiction.     The  Nashotah 
missionaries  have  since  erected  a  church,  by  the  name  of  St.  Silvanus, 
and  it  can  hardly  be  doubted,  that  the  effects,  anticipated  in  the  ballad* 
have  resulted  in  some  degree. 


XXII. 
THE  CHURCH'S  DAUGHTER. 

In  this  ballad  I  feel  that  I  have  very  imperfectly  expressed,  what, 
nevertheless,  I  may  have  sufficiently  suggested,  a  conviction  that,  in  the 
formation  of  female  character,  the  Church's  system,  if  faithfully  carried 
out,  naturally  devolopes  that  harmony  of  graces  which  her  Creator  de- 
signed for  woman,  as  the  companion,  and  minister  of  man. 

Page  159. — Rose-marine.  I  have  taken  a  quaint  sort  of  license  with 
the  botanical  name  of  the  flower  rosemary,  (rosmarinus,)  which  has 
no  reference  to  the  rose  at  all,  but  is  similar  in  sound.  I  judge  it  not 
out  of  place  in  a  ballad.  The  custom  of  using  rosemary  at  funerals 
is  thus  explained  by  Wheatley,  on  the  Common-Prayer ;  which  see, 
p.  514.     Boston. 

"  To  express  their  hopes  that  their  friend  is  not  lost  forever,  each  per- 
son in  the  company  usually  bears  in  his  hand  a  sprig  of  rosemary  :  a 
custom  which  seems  to  have  taken  its  rise  from  a  practice  among  the 


NOTES.  187 

heathens,  of  a  quite  different  import.  For  they  have  no  thought  of  a 
future  resurrection,  but  believing  that  the  bodies  of  those  that  were 
dead  would  forever  lie  in  the  grave,  made  use  of  cypress  at  their  fune- 
rals, which  is  a  tree  that  being  once  cut  never  revives,  but  dies  away. 
But  Christiana,  on  the  other  side,  having  better  hopes  and  knowing  that 
this  very  body  of  their  friend,  which  they  are  now  going  solemnly  to 
commit  to  the  grave,  shall  one  day  rise  again,  and  be  reunited  to  Ms 
soul,  instead  of  cypress,  distribute  rosemary  to  the  company,  which 
being  always  green,  and  flourishing  the  more  for  being  cropt,  (and  of 
which  a  sprig  only  being  set  in  the  ground,  will  sprout  up  immediately 
and  branch  into  a  tree,)  is  more  proper  to  express  their  confidence  and 
trust." 


XXIII. 

I  LOVE  THE  CHURCH. 

I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  I  have  a  passion  for  the  Beauty  of 
Holiness,  as  exemplified  in  the  Liturgy  and  Offices  of  the  Church;  and 
if  this  book  of  ballads  shall  serve  to  impress  the  humblest  Christian 
with  a  deeper  love  for  his  high  and  glorious  privileges  in  this  life,  and 
with  a  more  ardent  longing  for  his  hopes  in  the  life  of  the  world  to  com^ 
I  shall  feel  that  I  have  neither  written  nor  lived  in  vain. 


INDEX 

OF    PRINCIPAL   SUBJECTS. 


Absolution,  10-2. 

Advent,  39,  143. 

Altar,  58,  60,  71,  76,  77,  89, 107,  112, 1 22,  130,  140,  145, 154,  159,  163. 

Angels,  104,  108,  118,  154,  159. 

Architecture,  80,  82,  92,  104. 

Baptism,  26,  37,  146,  156. 

Bowing,  37. 

Burial,  38,  84,  87,  159. 

Catechizing,  136,  157. 

Catholic,   29,  30,  163. 

Children,  11,37,  38,  106,  124,  136,  146,157. 

Chimes,  53,  68,  121,  137. 

Christmas,  41,  44,  56,  143. 

Church,  the,  45,  49,  58,  60,  94,  103,  106,  108,  115,  134,  156, 161. 

Churches,  14,  35,  44,  55,  62,  75,  80,  88,  92, 100,  102,  104,  111,  161. 

Churchyards,  35,  52,  83,  105,  164. 

Churching,  159. 

Confirmation,  37,137,157. 

Consecration,  90,  138. 

Cross,  95,96,  148,  164. 

Departed,  the,  52,84,  107,  160,161. 

Dissent,  31,  45,  50,  63,  73. 

Easter,  26,39,  42,  69,  91. 

Eraber-davs,  49. 


190 


INDEX. 


Eucharist,  107,152,  163. 

Evergreens,  40,42,  69,  143. 

Fasts,  46,  48. 

Festivals,  46,  69,  106. 

Flowers,  41,42,129,159. 

Godparents,  37,  147. 

Houses,  religious,  131. 

Houses,  rectory,  104. 

Introit,  108. 

Keys,  31,  74,  78. 

Lent,  45,  49. 

Lord's  prayer,  157. 

Martyrs,  30,  58,  104,  134. 

Matrimony,  38, 137,  158. 

Missions,  128,  131, 135. 

Orders,  30,  78,134,  162. 

Paradise,  107,  159. 

Parish  schools,    106. 

Perpetuity,  115,  134,161. 

Pulpit,  108. 

Prayers,  private,  100. 

Preaching,  25, 109,  130,  132,  163. 

Rebellion,  65. 

Reformers,  61,  134. 

Responses,  36, 108. 

Restoration,  67. 

Ring,  137,  158. 

Schism,  46,  63. 

Service,  daily,  46,  95,  102,  103,  106,  112,  113. 

Succession,  30,  78,  115, 134,  162. 

Symbols,  82,  94,  106,  107,  108. 

Unity,  49, 114,131,  141,  151,  166. 

Viaticum,  159. 

Vigils,  117. 

Visitation  of  sick,  159. 

Year,  the  Christian,  39,  46,  149. 


CONTENTS 


Dedication, 

Preface, 

Hymn  of  Boyhood, 

St.  Sacrament, 

Antioch, 

Dreamland, 

Carol, 

Lament, 

Ember-prayers, 

England, 

Chronicles, 

The  Chimes  of  England, 

Scotland, 

Seabury's    Mitre, 

Rustic  Churches, 

Churchyards, 

Trinity,  old  Church, 

Trinity,  new  Church, 

The  Spire-cross, 

Oratories, 

Wayside  Homes, 

Little  Woodmere, 

Desolations, 

Chelsea, 

Vigils, 

Matin  Bells, 

The  Curfew, 


Page. 
3 
5 

-  11 
16 

-  29 
34 

-  40 
45 

-  48 
51 

-  60 
68 

-  71 
77 

-  80 
83 

-  88 
92 

-  96 
100 

-  102 
104 

-  Ill 
113 

-  117 
121 

-  124 


192  CONTENTS. 

Wildminster,        .......  128 

Nashotah,       -             -             -             -             -            -             -             -  131 

St.  Silvan's  Bell,                -            -  135 

Daily  Service,            .......  140 

Christmas  Carol,               -             -             -            -            -  143 

Christening,                 .......  146 

The  Calendar,       -             -             -            -             -             -             -  149 

The  Soul-dirge,          ....             .                         -  152 

The  Church's  Daughter,               .....  156 

I  love  the  Church,      -            -            -            -            -            -            -  161 

Notes, 167 

Index, 189 

Contents,                -                         -----  191 


HARTFORD: 

WILLIAM    FAXON 

PRINTER. 


